I'm not a master knitter (or a master gymnast, or even a mediocre gymnast but that's not really the point now is it?) but I came to these Olympics with the highest hopes and the best of intentions. I was going to perform perfect yarn overs and land every row with the same stitch count as when I started. But I am wilting under the pressure. Wilting like iceburg lettuce on the grill. And it's going to take a small bed-rest requiring accident for me to pull this one off. Something minor. Perhaps two slightly sprained ankles. Nothing requiring me to take pain meds that will suddenly make me think Mr. Bean movies are actually worth watching.
In case you haven't figured it out yet, I screwed up the lace again. Perhaps mohair, black mohair, was a poor first lace choice.