OK, so, when you’re making a sock, there is a certain amount of math involved. This is not esoteric math. It isn’t calculus or geometry or any of the other “evil” math art-sciences.
It’s pretty straightforward. You cast on, say, 44 stitches. You work however many inches in a rib pattern. You work however many inches in stockinet or rib or whatever until it is as long as you want. Then, you do the heel.
This is where the math comes in. Not hard math. It’s easy math. Take the ‘X’ stitches you have and divide by 2 – in this case, 44/2 = 22. OK. So far, so good. Then you work (X/2)-2 rows (which here means 20) back and forth on the heel flap. With me so far? This isn’t hard math, right? This is easy math. This isn’t like one of those monster formulas NASA uses to figure the trajectory that will plop a robot on Mars, right?
After you do the 20 rows, you then turn the heel. You take your stitches and divide by 3. If you can’t divide by 3, you get within spitting distance and put the extra one(s) in the middle. So. I’ve got 22, I can’t divide by 3, so I do 7-8-7. Right? Got it? Not hard.
Then. You knit the first two groups (7 + 8 = 15), knit the next two together and turn the work. Purl across those same 15 stitches, purl two together, turn the work. Knit to the little gap, knit 2 together, turn the work. Lather, rinse, repeat, until you’ve used up all the ‘extra’ stitches on the ends and behold – you have a heel.
(I know, non-sock-knitters, I’ve just issued forth some weird blather in Swahili. Trust me. It isn’t rocket science or anything resembling it.)
So. Last night I went about this basic maneuver and…well…um…I ended up with something…
Let’s just say…it ain’t no heel.
It looks more like a boil poking out from an otherwise lovely straight tube. I’m not sure, but it looks like I was throwing an extra stitch (or two) into the mix before I turned each time.
I have no idea what I did wrong, but I’m pretty sure the chardonnay had something to do with it.
Also, it is definitely not a heel. It is Just Plain Wrong.
Oh well. I knew knitting under the influence would bring me to grief. I’m just going to be grateful I wasn’t working on some astonishingly elegant piece of dainty lace, tear out whatever this Not A Heel thing is, and move on.
Under the influence of caffeine, this time, which has never done my knitting a bit of harm.