Tra la laaaa! I have finished the socks I was making for my 18yo.
He is such a sweetheart -- he understands that man-sized socks in twisted rib contain a sizable fraction of my recent leisure-time hours, and he appreciates the effort.
I ran into a minor difficulty with resizing the pattern: if you make the pattern repeat wider, it takes longer to work through each motif. I didn't want to interrupt the pattern in the middle of a repeat (quelle horreur!), which left me with fewer options for moving from foot to toe. The result: a toe that is squarer that I might like it to be. I prefer it when sock toes taper more gradually.
But you know, if my 18yo is ever traveling in Bedrock, his square-toed socks will blend right in. Nothing else that he is wearing will blend in and-- wait, they never wore socks in Bedrock, did they? Well, IF Fred Flintstone ever winds up in Gladlyville, he will need some socks and these might work for him.
When I was in the fourth grade my family moved from Metairie, LA to a tiny town in Kentucky. It was so small that to field a marching band they recruited kids from the grade school and the junior high as well as from the high school. I started rehearsing with the band that winter, and marched with them that following summer and fall. One of our songs was the Flintstones theme. You guys, that was THIRTY-NINE years ago and I can still play the Flintstones theme song on my flute. Memory is a strange thing.
So if you spy Fred Flintstone wandering around forlornly, looking for a brontosaurus burger, point him in the direction of Gladlyville. I can play him his song, and I bet that my son, if asked nicely, will consider sharing his socks.
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