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Aaaand scene.

Imagine my pride in putting aside my hunch and gut feeling in favour of science. Diligent swatching and measuring and hmmming over the pattern told me that my new cardigan should be cast on in size medium, not small, as is my instinct.

Imagine my disgust when, after a week of error-free work, I separate the sleeves off the body and try it on, only to discover it’s woefully too big. Not even a borderline too big, but an out-and-out, these-sleeves-gonna-catch-the-breeze order of too big.

Imagine my sense of maturity as I diligently slide the needles out and unravel to the start, so as to cast on the size small—perhaps also imagine my sense of smugness, having my original gut feeling confirmed.

Imagine then, my despair, upon rereading the pattern and discovering that I only needed to unravel the last ten rows to turn my size M into a size S.

That’s some Greek tragedy-level shit right there.

fin, weeping

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