“What the fuck?” I stared at the sweater Sofiya had crocheted for the dog. “What’s wrong?” Sofiya asked. I took the dog sweater and headed into the kitchen. “Why does the dog’s sweater look absolutely perfect?” It was dark green with white trim and even rows of pom-poms sewed onto it. Sofiya gave me a mischievous smile. “I made his last, so I’d had a lot of practice. But… are you saying you think your sweater is bad?”
