By Mariah Mihm
We all have a love/hate relationship with something. Maybe it’s food, or a place. Mine is a sweater.
I have a deep love for cream colored sweaters, which is evident if you peek inside my closet.
Today I was folding laundry. A load of whites, warm out of the dryer and there it was. I sighed once again. This particular sweater has been in and out of the donate pile for a few years. It’s in great condition despite how much I have worn it, one of those things that washes like a charm. Said sweater is the perfect weight with the perfect size ribbing. So soft and comfy.
Every love story has a beginning.
I remember the day I bought this gem. It was at the back of the store, on the left hand side, hanging just high enough that my 5’3” self needed help to get it down. My eyes big, I felt the adrenaline rush. Even then, I did not need another cream sweater. I will never need another cream sweater. Yet, this butter-soft, knit, open cardigan with perfect ribbing was not to be passed up. And bestill my beating heart, it was on sale! How could this be? But it was to be!
My cozy friend saw gloomy days in Northern California. I’ve slept in it while sick, or depressed; and, during far too many migraines to count. It comforted me through the hell days of two miscarriages. Then, finally, through the joy of the first and last months of my beautiful pregnancy. It covered my sweet child while he lay nursing or taking a nap on my chest. It’s been through the demise of my marriage and subsequent heartaches. It was in my carry-on as I took my last flight from California to Minnesota, my home.
So what’s not to love? It has a hood. I hate hoods (though this one lies wide and flat and I hardly notice it). I’ve thought about removing the hood, but then it wouldn’t be my annoying sweater.
The sleeves are just a tad too long and don’t stay up. It doesn’t matter if I roll them or push them over my elbows, they make their way down to my wrists. The sleeves get into everything!
There are no buttons, or snaps to keep the front from awkwardly falling. That open-concept trend is not a good idea for a sweater. It adds unwanted bulk. I have tried to use a belt, but feel like a pirate in the way it blouses out on the lower half.
To sum up the hate, the sweater is just plain annoying.
Some love stories have no end. Even love/hate ones.
So I take off the softest sweater I have ever owned and put it in the washing machine. Then into the dryer. I take it out, all warm and fluffy. Once again, I am smitten.