Soft fuzzy sweaters, too magical to touch...
~J. Geils Band
Those sweaters were, without a doubt, angora.
I had an angora sweater once. It was a pale aqua which wasn't, perhaps, the most flattering hue to complement my coloring, but it was soft as a cloud and made me feel sweet and sexy and powerful all at the same time. I just got a little shiver thinking about it.
I decided, with this milestone birthday looming large in front of me, and a decent discount available to me at the yarn shop, I'd like to treat myself to some angora. Not a sweater's worth - it's a good discount, but not THAT good - I decided on 50 grams. It seemed like an appropriate amount of indulgence. I needed to narrow it down though. We sell angora that's good. We sell angora that's REALLY good for a few bucks more. For twice that? We sell angora that's - well - how do you spell the sounds one makes when one is rolling on the floor dying of joy and bliss and overwhelming sexy soft? Yeah. That good.
When presented with the options, my family overwhelmingly encouraged the purchase of the latter. It's a treat, for Pete's sake, nothing I'm going to make a habit of. And it's only 50 grams. One gram for every trip 'round the sun.
What to make?
Lately Tom has been musing about Woody Allen. I bring it up for a reason, I promise. While Tom is neither slight of frame nor Jewish, he is indeed brilliant, funny, dry, self-deprecating, lacking awareness of his own genius - note to self: do not adopt children... anyway. It got me to thinking about the kind of woman who is attracted to The Woody Allen Type. You can't ride a thought train like that and not land on Diane Keaton for a little while. Diane Keaton wears gloves. Like Barbara Bush wears pearls. She wears them, I think I read once, like all the time now. I think that is ridiculously cool and more than a little kooky. Affectations are so great when they're done well.
Maybe I'll make gloves.
But it's hard to get a lot of things accomplished while wearing angora gloves. Diane Keaton may not have to get her hands dirty, but I, occasionally, do. Nope, gloves, lovely as they would undoubtedly be, will not work.
Maybe I'll make a scarf.
A scarf would be nice. Not a long or generously sized one with that small amount, but something to wrap 'round my neck. I'd feel the softness next to my face which would be swell. One problem - the internal thermostat tends to - um - run a little on the warm side. A scarf would start out looking and feeling wonderful, but in no time at all I'd be clawing at it screaming "Get it offa me!" Nope, a scarf is not a good idea.
Maybe I'll make a hat.
I look good in hats.
I wear hats whenever I can.
Maybe my affectation can be a fluffy angora tam.
And my NAME is Tam.
I think I'm on to something.
Fifty is going to be GREAT.