knitter next door

How I became a girl who can't say no to knitting (and other musings on obsession) esimnitt (at) yahoo (dot) com

Monday, September 26, 2005

Does this fit?

I'm too lazy to try to figure out a picture to go with this post, so you'll have to make do with linking to pages with pictures on them. I'm just too tired, too out of inspiration and too engrossed in Lucky to do anything else.

Whne my hands would get too cramped from knitting the clover leaf pattern over and over and over again, I'd take a break, hop in my car and hit the mall. I made three trips: one Friday for Gap camis and a jacket; one Saturday for a Gap sweater; and one Sunday to make sure I purchased the right Gap sweater and too hook up with pink boots. Why so many trips? If you're asking this, you've never shopped with me and my big fat neurosis.

While many people can go to the store, find something they like, buy it and carry on in their merry little way, I have to obsess and stew about whether I made the right decision, whether the size is just right, whether I should have spent the money. It doesn't matter how perfect the object. There's a mandatory period of stew during which I drive my husband crazy.

Sample conversation:

Me: "Do you think this sweater looks too small?"
Mr. Knitter: "It looks great."
Me: "But it sort of feels like it might pull funny in the shoulders when I scrunch down like this."
Mr. Knitter: "It looks cute."
Me, tugging at the sweater sleeves: "But what if it doesn't fit? What will I do?"
Mr. Knitter: "I'm going to kill myself now."

This happens for almost every thing I purchase. And I bought a lot of stuff this weekend. (That resolution not to buy any new clothes this year? Yeah, that's so far out the window it's in the next state). My poor hubby. He's such a good bloke, too, buying me my Cruiser for my birthday, finding me the discounted Timbuk2 bag, baking me breakfast scones, letting me extend my birthday priveleges to a week and a half.

I guess I'll have to ask the cat what he thinks of these shoes make my feet look fat (yes, it can happen; at least in my universe).


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