Inspired by a theory from someone in the MFMM fanpage on Facebook.
She sat in the comfortable armchair and furiously, angrily knitted. Rosie was furious. He was usually late for dinner, he gently but persistently refused promotion and for years now he had become too distant. She tried, she really did but he was just getting on her last nerve. The needles clicked and clacked irately, matching her mood. She dropped a stitch every so often but by the time he was finally in to dinner, dropping a chaste kiss on her cheek, she had nearly finished her masterpiece.
She was beginning to feel the stirrings of vindictive delight over her venture. Something so ugly that he was duty bound to wear it. That was the kind of man he was. He always did the honourable thing, something that brought satisfaction and disappointment at the same time. She hadn't thought that was possible until now. Taking up the needles once more after a lukewarm dinner while small talk cooled with the mashed potato, she carried on until nearly midnight. He didn't disturb her, just sat there with a glass of whiskey listening to the radio turned low. He had no idea what was coming. She half turned away from another unsuspecting kiss later before he went to tuck himself into bed. Her rage simmered. She couldn't wait to make him wear it at Christmas.
Finally, she finished it. The ugliest jumper in existence. Jack Robinson had to wear it. She'd make sure of that.