Aqua is the new black

          In case you are wondering if I received the sweatshirt requested from my mother for Christmas, the answer is that I have instead perhaps learned a lesson. This is that I should really only ask for things that my mother has the ability to purchase. When I requested a cardigan a few weeks ago and specified that it be "50's twinset style", she knew exactly what I meant and bought me, not one, but seven work-appropriate cardigans. My arms will never be cold again, especially if I wear them all at the same time. She also gave me damn near every Jane Austen/Bronte sister film produced by the BBC in the last 5 years, some beautiful scarves and a lovely turtleneck sweater from my favorite store. I am a lucky girl. The sweatshirt, however has already been returned[1] to Bob's retailers, a store I have not visited since I was a tween, when I had not yet given up the idea that if I sometimes wore athletic apparel, I might give off the appearance of a modicum of athleticism.

          In my mind, I thought I was requesting a classic collegiate sweatshirt, in a size small, just without a hood. Ideally it would be something soft that I could wear around the house but that would not humiliate me if visitors dropped by unexpectedly, unlike my current Wisconsin cow sweatshirt. What my mother picked out was enormous, stiff, and aqua. She insisted it fit her and would therefore also fit me, but I find it hard to believe that it did not resemble the shapeless tunics of her "Flax" years in the 90's. I can't recall ever having seen a sweatshirt with no band at the bottom, but this one had none. The fabric was also surprisingly rough. I didn't know they even made sweatshirts like this, as though the purpose of sweats is not one of softness and comfort, but fashion. Oh well. "We'll find one!" she says. I am sure we will. I am sure we will get our hands on that elusive beast, "the sweatshirt".

          Meanwhile at our family friends' house, one sister had given another sister a light pink sweatshirt featuring a kitten in a purse. The recipient, a grown woman, does have a new cat but upon receiving this gift, she made it very clear that she is a cat owner and not a cat wearer. When I told her not to complain, because at least it looked comfortable and wasn't an aqua tent made of sandpaper, I was warned to watch what I wish for. They are already in plans for my Christmas gift next year- the ugliest, cheapest sweatshirt they can find at the thrift store. I kind of can't wait.


[1] The return of said gift is a miracle unto itself for which I should be grateful. My mother has never been one to save gift receipts, usually immediately exclaiming: "Who can we give it to???"