A knitted thing.
I skipped posting last night. It was late, I was tired, and I just didn’t feel like it. It’s wonderful to be home with my mom and sister.
A friend of my mom’s gave, maybe made, her a knitted thing somewhere between a scarf and a shawl. It’s a bit too short for a scarf, a bit to narrow for a shawl, and the shape is neither triangular nor rectangular. More like an unever trapazoid. My mother holds it up to me. “Look. It has such pretty colors, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I agree. The colors were beautiful. Shades of burgundy and plum blended together in even stripes.
“Would you like it?” she asks me with a hopeful gaze.
“Uh, no thank you.” I don’t need to mince words. It’s my mother. My tone clearly conveyed my dislike of the article.
“It would be perfect for a ball game.” She tries to point out places I can wear this scarf-shawl-thing.
“I haven’t been to a ball game since I was twelve,” I point out. It’s a lie. I’m sure I’ve been to ball games in the last forty years, but few and far between.
“But a ball game would be perfect for this. You could leave it in the stands there.”
This, folks, is my mother. I love her. And I thank her for my sense of humor.