This is a sad day at Casa Librarian-in-Training.
On the red-eye back from California, I was eagerly leafing through my twice-yearly InStyle for evidence that legwarmers really were all the rage for fall. For the past few weeks, the boyfriend has been hatefully insistent that leggings and legwarmers are not at all the same thing. Photographic evidence was a crucial component of my “prove that all the mockery was entirely off-base” campaign. Though it pains me, I am finally forced to admit that he was right and I was wrong.
Fortunately, the boyfriend is not such a good flyer, so his attention was focused on clutching the armrests and picturing his imminent fiery demise, rather than on my poor fashion sense.
So for the record, when the people that make fashion decisions say “leggings,” they mean these:
There, I said it.
And as further proof that I am a woman capable of admitting fault, the legwarmer is stylishly shot with the remains of the plant I knocked over while attempting to capture its legwarmery goodness. The boyfriend should note that this is the self-same christmas cactus he got in big trouble for knocking over a month ago.
Obviously this plant wants to die. If it is so eager to pitch itself to the ground, who are we to stand in its way? My humblest apologies for all that yelling.
All is not lost on the legwarmer front. I'm thinking the legwarmer can simply be converted into a really huge armwarmer. Or, as the ever-helpful boyfriend suggested, maybe a “cock cozy for a mule.”
We just had a wonderful vacation in California, so I will try to forgive his occasional lapses regarding my knitting. Four days of fabulous food and even more fabulous company makes for a comparatively tolerant librarian-in-training, thanks in large part to my best friend Sarah, who hostessed awesomely in every way.
I even had time for a stash-enrichment jaunt to the appropriately named Stash in Berkeley.
The goodies include Mountain Colors Bearfoot in Rosehip, two skeins of Lorna’s Laces in Girly Stripe (one skein is already on the needles), and yet another skein of Silky Wool, destined for luxurious lounge socks, ridiculously cute striped socks and a Branching Out scarf, respectively.
Unless things go drastically wrong (she types, tempting fate), none of these are destined to grace a mule’s genitalia.