Knit Picky

I have a true confession that I cannot hold from the world any longer. Over the weekend, I bought not one but two cardigans….two….the garment of my uncle, who was also a monk.

Have I gone through some magical black hole of aging that takes over my ability to make sane fashion choices for myself? I remember ten years ago when a PR consultant told me instead of wearing hipster suits that I should wear cardigans. I chased him out of my office with my signed Ken Griffey Jr. baseball bat.

Is this aging?

I have noticed a variety of other changes…I don’t like hot food anymore. I don’t mean spicy, I mean, temperature hot. I let my food cool to a warm temperature now before eating. I am not sure why but it feels better. I don’t like ice cold drinks anymore, again I prefer just slightly cold. I am told this inherently aids digestion but I just do it because it tastes better. I am more careful as I run down stairs, maneuver on a ladder or cross a street. This was not in my DNA because I have always jetted about with reckless abandonment.

Not wanting to give into my internal aging clock, I jumped on the elliptical and knocked out 16.3 miles. I am not old. I keep telling myself that I just have a sudden sympathy to support the cardigan industry.


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