Okay, now I’m getting impatient. I’m anxious that I’ll have knitted all this fluffy pink wonderfulness in vain, that I’ll get this thing on and it will look as if I’ve been attacked by a wad of cotton candy. Or swallowed whole by baby bootie gone savage. This is one of those situations where a writer’s imagination is not her best friend.
You know, there is a fine line between something that makes stunning knitting and something that looks stunning on.
This one’s sitting right on the line–or could be. It could be flat-out adorable, surprising me like the Mega Cabled Scarf I just finished. And really, with scarves you can hardly ever go wrong. Vests, however, require a bit more discernment. Despite my instant love-affair with the color when I was in the shop, I’m always just a bit wary reluctant to wear bright colors on top because, well, I’m a…buxom lass and given to looking a bit top-heavy if the shape or neckline is wrong. I’d be much better if I had the hips to even it all out, to look rubenesque instead of Amazonian. But then again, which of us ever is content with our bodies at this age? At almost any age?
Ah, but the truth of it is that at my age, if I like it I’ll wear it…whether you think I should or not.
It is precisely this attitude, by the way, that horrifies my teenage offspring. Well, that’s only fair–I’m often horrified by my daughter’s choice of clothing or my teenage son’s seeming inability to consistently use a hairbrush. I would like to think the world sees me as “creatively elegant,” but I’m aware that there are days where I’m much more “creative” than “elegant.” And that’s okay. I’ve lived long enough to override my concern about what other people think. Most days.
So, there’s nothing for this dilemma but to finish the thing. And I intend to do just that. I’ve got a cross-country plane ride to San Jose on Friday, so that should provide me with enough time to finish this baby off by my intended deadline. Both my husband and I have November birthdays, so we’ve elected to go out on a single night to celebrate both, and I want to wear this.
I promise we won’t be eating anything with soy sauce or red sauce–can’t endanger this baby on her debut, can I?
I might, however, go get some cotton candy.