Tiny yarn, small needles, a large stitch count, and after all the knitting I did today, (which, granted, given the season and the children home, wasn’t what it might have been) it is measuring officially one inch shorter than this morning.
Sometimes, knitting acts like a cat.
A squirtgun effect will make it behave. I will go rinse it and set it out still on the needles to dry, a quasi-block. Let’s see if we can get Socks here to stretch its paws a bit.
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p.s. For those who’ve known the Provo Tabernacle and haven’t heard yet. I have fond memories from college of the incredible acoustics in that building: of being in the upper balcony facing the front and my neighbor’s adorable little elf of a four-year-old being so ready to be done with sitting quietly up there. (There was no air conditioning. Lots of people. Heat rises.) She leaped to her feet in the middle of the meeting after one early speaker said the magic word Amen, exclaiming in a voice that carried around the entire interior, “We go now Daddy?!”
And now the building has left the elves.