The Sweater Design class with Melissa Leapman was great. I seldom use this word to describe a grown woman, but Melissa is just adorable. She’s New- York- Fashion- Designer- Chic, with a Girl-Next-Door, down-home personality. And she’s smart and funny and confident. Most important, she has the courage to implore that all women measure their boobs, with integrity.

While I was excited about taking the class, I wasn't really expecting it to reveal the great mysteries of the design universe. In fact, I already own two books on simple sweater design, which I've never used. However, by the time class was over, I was believing that I could design a sweater, sans Barney Fife and his band of sniggling demons, from Mt. Pilot. Melissa just made it so sensible, so logical (so Supertramp), so,“Hell yeah, I can do that."

I did manage to snag a copy of her Hot Knits, and am now in Hot Pursuit of her A Close Knit Family. This woman gives great texture.

What God Hath Left Asunder…
My proudest moment of the day, was being the only (or maybe one of a few) to accurately measure my bosoms with a measuring tape. In the lesson of the psychology of boobage (You didn’t know there was a psychological piece to measuring the girls, did you?) she had us measure first, with the tape, then with a piece of non-stretchy yarn, cut exactly to our size. My string and initial tape measurement were exact! Woman, know thy boobs.

My least proud moment occurred during a brief algebra lesson. Math was always difficult for me, in school. After I was diagnosed with AD*HD, as an adult, I often wondered what I could have accomplished in high school and college, had I been diagnosed and treated earlier. While I did okay in school, I never set the bar high, because on some level, I believed I was stupid. Or less than. Any good grades or accolades were attributed,by me,to dumb luck.

Anyhoo. As we started down the math path, I was there, baby. I was up for it. After my initial gulp of terror, I said to myself, “You can do this. You’re not that girl anymore. You’re smart. You’re motivated. And dammit, you’re medicated.”

As I wrote down the first step of what would eventually progress to a real algebraic equation, I was replete with Concerta confidence. ::I don’t know what the first step of the math problem entailed, but I do remember an x and a y. Unfortunately, I left my notes and my course booklet, in the ladies bathroom at the MSU Student Union. Thank You Sarah, for picking it up and arranging to have it sent to my home. You didn’t happen to see a couple brain cells, asunder, maybe rolling around the lounge?::.

As we moved up the algebraic food chain, I followed along, nodding my head, even murmuring a correct answer, here and there. I was so doing algebra!

Next thing I know, it's MSU, 1979 and I'm gazing out the classroom window, at my beloved Beaumont tower, daydreaming about Boz Scaggs and Spartan Basketball and Kirk Gibson, with hair. (I’m an alum, in case any of you missed that).

Back to the Here and Now: The chalkboard is now filled with algebra stuff. It looks, to me, like something out of A Beautiful Mind. While my own sweet pretty is all a flustercuck. I'm too lost to even ask how lost I am

But I did learn something: Pharmacist Cannot Put in that Which God Left Out. I'll always suck at math. And I'm okay with that.

T Bear Tales
Of course, I had to stop in to see the Boys. And buy some stuff. But just a little.

The white/gold/blue is Lorna's Laces chunky, escorted by a mango Patons acrylic/wool blend and dedicated to a striped cardie for Me Cakers. All that's missing is the pattern. Which I left at the store.



Of course, Threadbears was amazing as ever. It's still safe to say, I've never been any place like it. And every time I leave there, I'm wishing I could stay all day. ::And a person really could, you know, stay all day. And I bet, sometimes, they do.::

This post felt like an eternity in the making, and like the monster in the classic horror flick, it just won't die! Pass the Silver Bullet.

Labels: Boobs and Pee and Poo, Yore