I have nicknamed my beloved husband Goldisox. He isn't crazy about the nickname but even he has to admit it fits. This Search for the Perfect Fit is a bit like a dog chasing her tail except for the fact the dog has better odds of catching her tail than I have of ever ever making a sock that fits him perfectly.
Now I'm not saying anything I didn't say to him (and at extremely elevated decibel levels) but when a man with an 11" long foot says to begin the toe decreases at 11" so there will be lots and lots of "extra room" and you do exactly what the man says and measure out a 13" long foot (with a round toe because Goldisox says they're roomier than grafted toes) that even my limited math skills say provide 2" ease for wiggle room and shrinkage and he puts them on and says -- and I quote here verbatim -- "They fit but just barely," --- well, would you blame me if I strung him up by the Bulky Fixation and hung him outside to dry?
Here are some basic sock knitting truths:
- You have to truly love someone to knit them plain black socks
- You have to truly love someone to knit them plain black socks when they have big feet
- You have to truly love someone to knit them plain black socks when they have big feet and a certifiably insane fear of having their toes restricted by said plain black socks that are infinitely more comfortable, roomier, and toe-friendly than any other skimpy, stretchy, nasty nylon sock he's ever owned.
I think I actually shrieked something like, "I'll never knit you another sock again as long as I live! Never! Never! Never!" but I can't swear to it.
The embarrassing thing? I cast on a new pair an hour later. I am going to knit the perfect fitting pair of socks if it kills me.