There's a small gang of us at work who like to sit in the main hallway during breaks. I'm not sure why. Freedom to sprawl, relief from the TV set, the potential to trip unwary passers-by...
Anyway, we hang out there and drink coffee and talk. I bring my knitting bag, a red-striped cotton affair that takes no offense at being shoved into a tiny locker. Inside the bag is a stocking cap, very close to being finished. Did I tell you about the hat I was making for Himsef? For Christmas?
It should have been done long ago, as has been pointed out repeatedly by my hall mates and the co-workers we trip. This is the point where I have to explain the concept of "fiddly" knitting. In the world of knitting, "fiddly" refers to any project with tiny needles, lots of charts and colorwork, weird stitches, or a combination of all three. Fiddly means pain in the butt, basically.
A stocking cap is one of the least fiddly projects to be found, which is why it comes to work with me. Even if the power goes out and we're stuck in the dark clutching lukewarm cups of coffee while the emergency sirens blare in the distance, I can still knit a stocking cap. Piece of cake.
Of course, being so fiddly-free is why the stocking cap is NOT done yet. It only gets worked on at work, five or ten minutes at a stretch during breaks. I save my home knitting time for things like patterned Norwegian mittens and cabled sweaters.
These are near the apex of fiddliness, and would therefore cause a fit of temper if I were in the middle of a row and the back-to-work alarm sounded, causing me to juggle chart, needles, skeins, bag, and pencil all the way back to my locker after trying to find a suitable stopping point and trying to place everything in a neat stack that actually stays in place without losing my spot on the chart or dunking one of six skeins of yarn in the coffee that I accidentally kicked over.
Fiddly stays at home, even if it means Himself gets his hat on the fourth of July.