Knitting is the invention of the devil, clearly. In support of this assertion, I offer two pieces of evidence:

The first is that, this morning, I noticed a mistake that I could not ignore. It would, as the saying goes, be visible from a galloping horse. I marked the position, and, because this stitch pattern has so many yarn overs that frogging and reknitting is impossible, started slowly and painfully tinking back. It took an hour and a half to get three rows back, where I found the mistake; I had split one stitch, knitting it as two.

The other piece of evidence that knitting was invented by the devil is that, while I have something in the neighborhood of twenty people coming to dinner tomorrow, I have not yet started cleaning, or cooking, or even buying the necessary groceries, because I can't bear to put the current project down until it is finished. This is so, in spite of my suspicion that the top will not be flattering to my figure, so I will only wear it in winter under a jacket. Because it would create many opportunities for dead air spaces, I'm sure it'll be excellent as an intermediate layer between a t-shirt and a jacket in cool weather.

Now, I'd better go finish that top, so I can get ready for tomorrow's dinner party.