If there is any type of fall-out from our trip to Alaska, it may be Italian's introduction to wool. He didn't grow up wearing wool, and living in the South, he doesn't have a need for wool. He rarely wears a jacket and isn't a hat/glove/scarf type of guy, so putting on wool was kinda new to him.
When packing for the trip, he did pack most of the wool he owns: two wool sweaters and three pairs of store-bought hiking socks. The other wool sweater stayed home, being a bit too dressy for the outdoorsy activities which waited for us. Suggesting the wool articles was a huge mistake on my part. I should have intervened. I should have swapped out his clothes. I should have bought him cotton sweaters.
Italian began making a few comments here and there. He'd drop a casual, "Boy, I really liked wearing wool," and a "Gee, I didn't realize how nice and warm wool stuff is." Then, the comments became more sinister. He began saying things like "You, know, if you want to knit me anything in wool, I wouldn't mind," and "I would really enjoying having more wool clothes." Finally, the worst comment came yesterday. I innocently pulled out my Jaywalker sock when the attack occurred.
Italian eyed my sock. Me glared at me with furrowed brow. Then came the blow. "You already have a pair of handknit socks. I haven't gotten anything knitted from you."
I've got to finish the anniversary sweater.
The front of the River Forest Gansey. With any luck, I'll start the sleeves by the weekend.