I did not want to buy a new pair of jeans. It was tax week and I was about to send two checks totalling over $7,000 to the IRS, and I did not want to spend even one percent of that amount on new jeans.
There is a gap between the person I am, and the person I want to be, and into that gap falls sweater happiness. I picture myself lounging in cashmere beside a fireplace while waving a volume of Lisa Robertson’s poetry, or fly-fishing in Scotland while wearing chunky cable knit.
Bags seem to be the splurge of choice, followed by shoes.