You know how sometimes, you put on that sweater you just made?
That frickin' fabulous-est sweater of all time, and you have just the right outfit, with just the right accessories for it, and it looks exactly like you thought it would. And you are the bitchin'est person alive, practically, you are sure of it.
In fact, you are so fabuloso you are fairly certain that on your walk to school this morning, cars are just going to slam into each other as drivers crane their heads to get a better glimpse of the awesomest sweater ever and the person cool enough to own it.
(You can't imagine they'd actually know you made it, but you figure you will explain that to them when they pull over and demand to know exactly where they can find such a great thing, and you tell them, modestly and even somewhat apologetically, that Oh, sorry, no, they can't have one, really. 'Cuz, heh, I made it. Yes, really. No, no. It's easy, really. No sweat! Anyone could do it! Yeah, yeah... Well, thank you!) And they will drive off into the sunset, shaking their heads at your sheer genius and pitying themselves for their incompetence.
The fact that none of this actually happens doesn't dissuade you one little bit. You know it's a great sweater.
Those people were probably just too shy, is all.
Or maybe in a hurry.
Or maybe freakin' blind, people, because it is awesome, dammit!
You are pretty sure you are right because some
weirdo creep knitter from Germany keeps Googling the image from your old post so it must be a really good bra! sweater.
And then you arrive at school, in all your awesome glory and someone says,"O-oooo-oooh... Did you make that?"
And just like that: it's over.
Dead in the water.
Unable to withstand the barrage of questions your brain is sending it, your little buoy of knitterly happiness gets tumbled by crashing waves of self-doubt and sucked in by the undertow of humiliation, drowned in the seaweed of... Oh, I don't know! Enough with the dumb oceanographic metaphor, already! The point is, ya' got some questions whippin' around in your head that your ego can't possibly survive:
Why did she ask me that? What did she mean, exactly? Does it look "home-made?" Maybe she knows I knit? No, she doesn't know you knit. Is she being snooty? You can't tell. 'Cuz you suck at that. What did she mean then? Oh, I know what she meant: She meant my SWEATER SUCKS BIG FAT EGGS.
Just like me.
So you drag your pitiful fat ass all the way back home and change into a boring T-shirt.
Fine! you think.
It's alright, 'salright, you tell yourself.
Tomorrow. That's a whole other day. And you are gonna be sooooo hot. You just know it.
Just wait and see.
The folks over at humor-blogs are not especially fond of knitters, but they think this particular knitter is especially nuts.