Here is the Aran that I knit for the BackBou about a year ago. Doesn't he look smashing in it? It wasn't perfect. Far from it. I was considering ripping out the bottom ribbing (which was pathetic and way too loose) and re-knitting a better bottom. The fit just wasn't right. The BackBou didn't suffer the imperfections silently either. He almost never wore it and the looseness of it bothered him constantly. He appreciated the effort and the yarn (bought on our Ireland trip on the island of Inishmore), but the sweater drove him crazy.
Well, I decided that I would block it. But I just never got around to it. So finally, my beloved BackBou took matters into his own hands.
Can I take a brief moment here to say how painful this is to me? Painful, not because of the results per se, but because I would like our readers to think of me as ... clever? ... well, at the very least, not dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Not handknit savvy in the least. So, if you would like to go on thinking that I am not the most idiotic knitter out there, close this webpage now. Navigate away gentle readers, or else be prepared to be aghast at my stupidity.
When he said that he was going to block the sweater, I may have been doing something else. I know I wasn't really focused on what he was saying. I think I said something like, "mmm, that's nice. Try cold water and the handwash setting." And then I went back to gardening, breaking up a sibling fight, folding laundry, paying bills, ... whatever.
I forgot about it. Forgot until that night when the BackBou yelled up from the basement, "Ann -- you have to come down here right now." It was this horrible, fuzzy, wild ... thing. The sweater is now 20 inches from shoulder to bottom with a 58 inch circumference. 58 inch. 58 inch. And really fuzzy. Lots of fuzz. This picture doesn't even begin to capture how awful the fuzz is.