My guess is, I finished them first because they're little, short ones. Those are the easier ones. The little, short ones. The other socks I have SON are regular socks, you know, the kind that are, well, you know, socks.
Remember how I only had 24 grams of yarn left and I was worrying that I'd have to steal from my second skein of Regia Design Line to make the other sock-like item?
Turns out I did need to open up that second skein. Not because I ran out of yarn with the other sock-like shortie thingy, but because I decided that they must have pom pons. There was no way around it. I just had to.
Plus, those pom pons. Just like tap dancing, you can't frown while making a pom pon. (Or while wearing pom pons, unless you feel stupid.)
Which brings me to this: I call them pom pons. Others call them pom poms. I kinda looked it up and the original word was "pom pon" but somehow people misheard the word and started using "pom pom" which has gained ground. Did you know that?
All I know is, when I hear the word "pom pom" all I get are visions of my seventh-grade year when my friend talked me into trying out for cheerleader with her (and I made it and she didn't). Let me say this: I usually seem pretty peppy but I'm not "pom pom" peppy. Oh, those nights on the football field when I had to shake them like I meant it while the seventh-grade boys ran through a giant strip of acrylic-painted super-wide kitchen paper. Oh boy. Whew. Glad that's over. (The big strip of paper usually said something like: "Go Wild Cats, Go!")
Maybe that's why I insist on calling the tufts of happy fluff the very correct "pom pon." So, there.
Oh, and here's another surprise: Just after I took the first picture, guess what I found?