The trouble with knitting is that you turn away for ten minutes and suddenly you have 36 hats on your dining room table and they seem to be propagating like bunnies under the warm romantic sun. Maybe they spent the extra money and went to Sandals or something because they certainly seem to have made good use of their free time.
Of course having too many hats isn't a "problem" in the way that it's a "problem" to drop your wallet into a sewer grate or it's a "problem" to rear-end a police car or it's a "problem" to have lupus, in fact if the yardstick by which you measure success in life is number of hats I would be rolling in ten million hats.
There are only so many hats one family can need at any given time and we seem to have reached critical mass of hats, meaning I've started rehoming some of these sweet little stray puppies to loving, tender homes.
Most of the appeal of knitting for me is in, well, the knitting, not the end result of getting to wear 20 hats at once, so I am relatively ambivalent about what happens to the physical embodiment of my hours of work when I'm done giving long, painful birth to it without medication.
It's exactly the opposite of how I feel about giving birth to a human child because knitting babies are the babies you can throw into the street and continue on with your deep hair conditioning treatment without a backwards glance. While I would be unlikely to leave a human baby underneath my neighbors car while I watch Vampire Diaries reruns I'm not making any promises about hats.
Given my blatant disregard for the hats' feelings you'd think I would stop churning them out like a mad wheelhouse of knitting fury but reality dictates that by December 1st 2012 we will have at least 7 more hats in our house/nearby street. Sometimes I just throw them out the window and keep knitting as if I hadn't murdered the next's brother or sister in cold woolen blood.
Anyway, knitting is a lovely hobby, probably, when you aren't rubbing your fingertips raw and thinking about blood.