I bought floss. A great whackin’ pile of minty-fresh embroidery floss. Twenty-five cents for the lot of it. At a yard sale where some lady never really got beyond the floss-buying stage of the cross stitch hobby.
I don’t judge; I shudder to think what will happen at my great post-departure yard sale. Maybe somebody will come along and scoop up my sixty-two pristine Alabama Chanin kits and my Singer Style-Mate 348.
Scoring all that floss sent me back to my altered sweater project, which may end up like the Golden Gate Bridge—constantly painted, never finished.
When last I wrote about this projeck, I had laid down a decent first coat of running stitch.
But I was stymied because of its the boxy, oversized, poorly conceived fit. The Rowan model didn’t look like she was wearing a boxy, oversized, poorly conceived cardigan. She looked svelte, soigné, sans souci. See? Her cardigan didn’t look anything like this.
“Roomy.” “Comfy.” “Generous.” “Cavernous.” “Waste of perfectly good yarn.”
In hopes of achieving a Nip & Tuck new sweater, I performed plastic surgery.
I started out by pinning the seams, trying to get the fit set before I started stitching. You know, it was the moment when the plastic surgeon draws on your butt with a Sharpie and says, “Here’s what won’t be here anymore when you wake up.”
However, I wasn’t in the mood for waiting, and the pins kept poking me, so I pulled out the pins and started what I guess you could call a folkloric and freehanded style of backstitch.
I’d just come home from New York, so my Singer Style-Mate wasn’t cleaned up enough for this gig. I just backstitched until the sweater looked smaller, or at least different. Isn’t that what plastic surgeons do? Two inches off each side seam (four inches gone!) and four inches off the underarmular areas.
Transformation! You don’t look like you had a facelift—you just look rested! Before on the left, after on the right.
The question now: how to excise the excess yarn flab?
It is not comfortable to have a wad of excess knitting stuck up under your arm. Please stay tuned. Once you start nipping and tucking, you get kind of addicted to it. And I’m itching to start using up these five miles of embroidery floss.
PS Here’s where this whole cockamamie project began.