This weekend, we hit the church-fair circuit. My mission: mittens. There are few things that make me more nostalgic for my childhood than a pair of hand-knit, brightly colored mittens. Unfortunately, my upper body is about the size of an adolescent boy, and sometimes my feet fit in little girl shoes from the Gap, but my hands are normal, average lady sized hands that can't squeeze into the brightly colored hats any longer. At the table o' knits, much to my delight however, there were some reasonably cool beret-styled cable knit hats- the gem amongst baby sweaters and afghans. The only problem was the pom-pom. The slate blue hat that I was coveting had the most horrific pom pom made of white, pink and blue yarn. I locked eyes with the grandmother behind the table, who was eyeing me expectantly with her hand close to the cash box. "I sort of like this one..." I trailed off. She replied, "But this pom pom is ruining it, isn't it?" Shocked at how forward she was being and how dead on correct she was, my mouth gaped a few times before I agreed, with a quick save, "But it'd be no big deal to just chop it off." A second woman joined the first at that moment, and I debated, to buy the hat, to not buy the hat, while the second thanked the first for watching the table while she was gone. She said it was no trouble at all then added, "The pom pom completely ruins this hat."
I look to my left, then my right at Andrea and Heather who are clearly as awestruck as I was at one grandma saying to the other, hey, you can't match a pom pom worth shit. Not being able to help myself I blurted, "But I would never have said that." And repeated it twice before lady number two said, "Oh, I didn't make this."
That day I went home with one ugly pom pommed hat, a secret present for Laura's cat, a San Antonio mug, suede boots, black patent leather heels, and a brooch.
