So Joanne how is #nobuyzone going? Well it’s funny you should ask because, friends, just this week I have fallen from grace. I spent money on both clothes and yarn. Forgive me knitters for I have sinned
In my defence I tried very hard not to buy clothes and the yarn was a sort of consequence of feeling a bit sorry for myself.
It went off like this: I had an everyday-wear jacket. Weatherproof, stylish (after a fashion, and if you like orange) it had been a good and faithful servant, when *somehow it got covered in black ink across the middle of body at the front. This ink proved pretty sticky stuff and after a wash remained as indelible as before. But the wash had removed the weatherproofing very effectively. Goddammit. The ink was not ignorable (especially for someone who admits to being a neat-freak) so I tried to cover it up with a bit of embroidery. Which worked (I guess) but left me with a not water-proof, florally decorated (and I suspect slightly shrunk) jacket. I tried to like it, but I’m just not in to flower power (and against being wet – definitely not: not in Winter, not in Britain).
Admitting the inevitable, I then went out to buy a replacement winter casual jacket. I went to several outdoors shops and found nada, nowt, not a sausage – nothing. If they fitted around my apple-shaped middle the arms were too long. If the arms and shoulders fitted, I couldn’t fasten it. My dearest one suggested that I might be ok if I wore a jacket without a jumper. This was probably true but as well as being dry in Winter I also prefer (call me an irrational fool if you like) to remain warm too. I went home discouraged, new-jacketless and clutching a bottle of re-proofing potion.
The potion did not work and I remained discouraged. I accept that I have a large middle, but I’m not that freakish and to prove it I had a jacket that fitted. I look around me and see many other women with – ahem – a wee bit of extra insulation, all wearing jackets. They must’ve bought them SOMEWHERE…. This sort of shopping should make you hate manufacturers/designers and their very narrow ideas of what constitutes the ideal female form, but it doesn’t, it makes you hate yourself.
I took the ‘kids’ (my two grown up sons) out shopping, and still glum, I cheered myself up with a yarn purchase. Four balls of WYS sock in an ashy rose colour to make this (or possibly this) reduced by a third. It felt good and it felt right – at the time, and then not so much later on when I squirrelled the yarn away.
And then strolling through town after a miserable conversation with my doctor (mile high cholesterol, and fatty liver were the highlights) I spied a jacket, waterproof, nearly identical to my old one and in a tasteful green.
Reader, I bought it.
*my son queried my story about how the ink had appeared. Honestly, as yarn is my witness ,it was not a ploy to buy a jacket. I loved that orange coat.