This Christmas/Hanukkah season, I went to Kaplan Bros, a hard core worker's clothing store up on Lake St, to find socks for my brother-in-law. I found him some serious socks, and while I was swanning around in the Carhartts and work boots, I found a couple bins full of the old red-heel work socks that people use to make sock monkeys. ZOMFG. They're still being sold unironically! (For the record, I think irony should never be used in its adjectival form - I'm looking at you Stephanie Meyer - but you know what I mean, right?) Anyway, I bought a couple pair thinking I'd make something out of them, even though I suck at crafts.
I am deeply incompetent when it comes to most crafts. Yes, I am capable of scads of cross-stitch, but that is like writing with string. String, and its friends, yarn, thread, and embroidery floss, are out to get me with their need to tangle up and make me cry with frustration. But mostly with cross-stitch my joy of writing overcomes the string part. Also, my love of cussing.
There's no cussing in sock monkey creation, at least not the kind of cussing that I can keep from the kids. I looked around online for some patterns, and they were all in that "in the usual manner" way that you find in lots of craft patterns. You know: "Then do some impossible thing in the usual manner, and then your project is done." No! I am a helpless kitten! Tell me! Tell me what you mean! In the usual manner for me is crying and giving up!
I checked this out of the library because karen said it was sweet
, and it has that odd sensibility towards crafting that makes me happy. Going through the patterns was awesome, because the authors assumed I was an idiot and told me every single step I might need. There was some joking about this to take the sting of my incompetence away. And I made a funny creature! The girl named him Button!
This is his backside.
So, I'm knocking off a star because I found two typos in the book, which is petty, but whatever. I am not generally aware of typos because I cannot spell myself, and when I notice them it has to be bad. (Not "bed" like I just wrote. Sigh.) I still have three more red-heel socks, and I've been eying the bag of single socks that makes me sad. Where do the mates go? It is a mystery.