A knitter can dream. Really, there’s a whole world of creative possibility at her fingertips when she casts on. We all envision ourselves to be artsy, crafty, intriguing people when we knit. We picture loving hands encased in our mittens, think of our booties cuddling around itty-bitty perfect baby toes. We knit to bring our affections into manifest fiber, to make a hand-made and comforting world out of the sharp-edged technology that surrounds us. Don’t get me wrong, I love technology, but who wants to snuggle up in a Blackberry when they’ve got the flu?
Hand-knitting (except that you can have exactly the color and style you want) isn’t ever about pure functionality. If we wanted fast practicality, we’d go out and buy scarves at Wal-mart, right?
Which explains–sort of–why I swallowed the concept of knitting leg-warmers without so much as a gulp of realism. Leg-warmers. Really? On a 50-year old woman who looks NOTHING like Jane Fonda did at 50? Or 60? Or probably even 70?
The whole idea just sorta has 80s Flashdance written all over it. That may be the root of its attraction, for I was skinny and carefree (and 18!) in the 80s. I was a theater major, so I did own legwarmers. (No, you may not see a photo of that.)
Legwarmers, Frye boots, and prairie skirts…remember? Rats, I bet most of you don’t, young fools, but I shall ignore that and press on.
The truth is I have no business knitting dancewear. None, zip, nada. But I’m gonna do it anyway, because I love the idea that I can knit dancewear. Sure, I’ve secretly entertained the notion of transforming them into shrug sleeves when I’m done, but until these babies prove themselves unable to wrap around my clumsy chunky thighs, they’re leg-warmers.
And if the pretended grace somehow seeps into my limbs to get me through Shaun T’s Hip Hop Abs long enough to drop a few pounds, well then I’ll claim victory. Because a knitter can dream.