I have a small secret--I love socks. It's not really a secret anymore. They're the project I knit most frequently, and if wild socks are on sale at the local "Tarjay," I will stock up on them. When Grandpa died a couple of years ago, Mom gave me two pairs of his hunting socks. (Since Grandpa spent much of his life on a quixotic quest for the perfect pair of socks that kept his feet warm but comfortable, I've got my suspicions as to whom I might have inheirited the obsession from.)
They're not my size, so I plan to make sock monkeys from them for Shirley and my brother's little girl. As with any much-loved knitted item, they've got a bit of lint on them.
So before I could start the sewing process, I had to take out the sweater stone and de-fuzzify them. The resulting ball of lint was so impressive that I had to share it:
Currently I've got everything done except for sewing the limbs on . Dismembered sock monkeys in the craft closet? Pretty normal for this household.
And in other clothing-related issues, the Mimi has started "borrowing" my clothes several years earlier than I thought she would. She looks way cuter in that sweater than I do.