Yes, sadly, it's true...TNS was not through with me yet. (remember? the turtle net sweater? recycled sari yarn?)
evidently it's gotten frustrated with me ignoring the fact that I do actually need to find another skein of yarn and knit another 3 inches on the right sleeve and rip and reshape the neck (excuse me...rip? recycled sari yarn? oh no.) and has resorted to insidious means to regain my attention.
I decided awhile ago that some of its faults might actually be solved by blocking, then promptly got distracted by something else. probably something shiny.
Today I did laundry.
I threw in my jeans and nice pants and other things to be washed dark and cold.
then I glanced at my white camisole, bra, and dress shirt. I thought to myself "...hm, now I've washed everything in there already, several times in fact...throwing in my white camisole, bra, and dress shirt won't be a problem."
so I did so.
Then, I went back upstairs to get my quarters and for some reason unknown to me, grabbed the sari sweater, thinking to myself that I'd get it wet to block (and some tiny part of me was screaming 'in the washing machine?!? are ya nuts?!' to no avail) it.
I went downstairs to toss the stuff in the dryer, and discovered a pink sleeve. "Pink?" I thought to myself..."what pink?"
at which point I went ....oh, shit. and then I thought naaaw, I took out the pair of socks mom made me for just that reason. (I'd forgotten about the sari sweater, of course)
but I pulled on the sleeve and it revealed my ex-white dress shirt, now a nice, even shade of baby pink.
I examined it carefully, confirmed that it was an even dye, and sighed. same thing with the ex-white camisole, now a nude pink, which is actually somewhat of an improvement. the bra did not dye evenly, but it was on its last legs anyway, so I'm not that concerned.
I pulled out a pair of pants, threw them in the dryer, and the next thing that I encountered was the sari sweater.
and then my brain went....oh, shit.
so the sweater is drying, blocked, in the bedroom. my ex-whites are waiting to be ironed.
I am, nonrepentantly*, starting on shooting mitts.
*so not a word, but I just don't care.