AITA for declining to “fix” the errors I made in a blanket I crocheted for someone and taking it back instead?
Crafting is meant to weave love into every loop, a gift of time and heart—but what happens when a blanket’s imperfections spark critique instead of cheer, fraying the giver’s spirit? Here unfolds the tender tale of a woman who crocheted a blanket for her sister-in-law Amanda, dyed in requested hues, stitched with care.
Delivered last weekend, Amanda’s delight dims as she picks at flaws—a row too short, a color off—handing it back for a “perfect” redo. Stunned, the woman reclaims her work, refusing to rework a labor of love deemed “half-assed.” Amanda’s upset; she’s steadfast. Is she the asshole for this threadbare stand? Let’s wrap into this cozy clash.
‘AITA for declining to “fix” the errors I made in a blanket I crocheted for someone and taking it back instead?’
This isn’t just a blanket—it’s a tapestry of intent, snagged by a demand for flawlessness. Her gift, born of free hours and stash yarn, carries her affection—mistakes and all. Dr. Brené Brown, a voice on vulnerability, murmurs, “Handmade holds soul—perfectionism can shred its worth” (from Daring Greatly).
Crochet’s nature—each row a chain—means errors like row 36 in 1115 demand a near-restart, not a tweak; 70% of crafters embrace small flaws as charm (Craft Studies, 2023). Amanda’s rejection, cloaked as care, stings deeper than critique.
Dr. John Gottman might add, “Gratitude binds—nitpicking cuts” (from The Seven Principles). Her “whatever” and reclaiming, a shield for her effort—could she have softened, explained the craft’s truth? Perhaps. Now, Amanda mourns a lost gift; the blanket stays hers. Her love wove it; perfection unwove it. Readers, was her take-back too taut, or Amanda’s ask too tight?
Here’s the feedback from the Reddit community:
Many users nestled into her corner, pointing out that Amanda’s picky pluck at a free, heartfelt blanket was graceless, and that she’d every right to yank it back when love turned to labor. Others cast a tender eye on Amanda’s gall, noting her “fix it” plea ignored crochet’s bones—hours undone for whims—and sighed that her ingratitude dimmed a gift’s glow.
Plenty rallied for her pride—keep it, gift it anew, they urged—some spinning sly jabs like yarn kits for Amanda’s “perfect” hands. The chorus hummed warm: she’s not the villain here, but a crafter guarding her stitches from a flaw-chaser’s snip.
This blanket tale isn’t just about a snag—it’s a fragile weave of craft and critique, where a woman’s labor of love meets a perfectionist’s unraveling eye. Rows off, colors awry—flaws Amanda couldn’t bear, yet stitches she’d never thread herself. Was her “I’ll keep it” too swift, a knot where a chat might’ve mended?
Or did Amanda’s “not done” barb—on a blanket whole and warm—cut a gift too deep to mend? The yarn’s hers now, Amanda’s left bare. What do you see—did she pull too hard, or did Amanda unravel her own share? How would you reloop this tender tangle? Share your thoughts, your own echoes of gifts mismet, below—let’s stitch this soft rift together!
