Now, you don’t
It’s quickstepped itself all the way to the frog pond and, O, how that hurt!
It had to be done. It was never going to fit. Having admitted that to myself I had to go about it like ripping a plaster off and thus I frogged the sock before breakfast.
Rest In Peace. The Sock is dead! Long live the sock?
I think I shall experience considerable resistance to casting on a Slippery Sock again, but we’ll see – once I have found a set of larger needles.