Thanksgiving in Chicago brought a smattering of snow, and a heap of butter-filled food. As it always does, the confluence of these factors mysteriously produced a widely-expressed consumerist surge, and, at least in my case, also triggered a deeply-felt desire for *coziness*. The result?
While everyone was out shopping for cheap televisions and discount stainless-steel cookware, I bought a plain-old woolly men’s sweater. It is big, soft and roomy—the arms are too long, the shoulders too wide—it hangs off me like an unappealing potato sack.
However, since donning the sweater, I was surprised to discover that I never wanted to wear anything *but* this graceless garment. Why, you ask? The answer is simple. Wearing this oversized men’s sweater is rather like being given a warm, constant HUG. It is really very lovely, and it sure beats hugging real men, who are prone to bad smells, prickliness and worse.
And although one might assume that such a large item of clothing would be unflattering, think again. I’d like to think that the proportions make my legs look smaller. I’d also like to think that it is so big that it makes me look like I’ve just stumbled out of some random (hot) bloke’s bed and grabbed his sweater as I’ve slipped of his house.
Mmm… don’t ask me about my gloves.
