It’s true. Devon is my personal dresser. She doesn’t actually put my clothes on me, but she tells me what to wear. Not because I pay her, and not because she wants me to be happy. For the most part there are two motivating factors for making me wear the clothes that I wear: 1) she does not want to be embarrassed by me; and 2) she derives pleasure from watching me embarrass myself.

Here is what I look like these days:

In the last few months, there has been a third motivating factor for Devon’s choices in my personal attire: she has recently learned to knit. Now I am living in yarn, both inside and out.

Mind you, I am not compaining – I think Devon’s choices are, if not stylish, at least interesting. And if I can’t be stylish, then I must be interesting. Take the hat, for example. As you can see, it has two very interesting and stylish pom-poms hanging from the earflaps. They are pom-poms of unusual size. I have had many compliments on it, and only one non-compliment in the form of jovial teasing.

Co-worker: Uh, nice hat there, Bil.
Me: Don’t be jealous of my big fuzzy blue balls.
Co-worker: Wow. I don’t even know what to say to that.
Me: Shut up and go brew some coffee.
Co-worker: I already have coffee.
Me: Son of a bitch.

Of course, when venturing into more seedy neighborhoods, I feel the need to put the Blue Balls of Freedom away and pull out a straight-up cap. Just a head cap, inconspicuous and masculine, to help me appear more thuggish. Yes, thuggish. I also mutter sporadically to myself in an effort to look unpredictable and dangerous.

But when I’m halfway home again, I go for the knit wool. Because life is too short not to rock the hat with giant pom-poms…provided rocking the giant pom-poms doesn’t mean getting jumped.

If you’re still reading this useless article by now, please allow me to take the time and promote Devon’s work. She has not only learned HOW to knit in the short time since October, but she is already completely pro. Here is a short list of some things she has created for various people:

- Scarves for several members of her family, some with with tassels.
- A killer scarf for myself.
- A massive, Tim-Burton-esque scarf for Trevor.
- Socks – two pairs so far, and one and a half thigh-high boot-socks (in progress).
- A shrug for herself.
- A shrug for a co-worker.
- Two hats with pom-poms (one for me, one for her).
- A pair of mittens for her sister.
- A cable-knit scarf (in progress).
- And much more that I can’t think of right now.

I must also mention that she is not the last word in what I wear around town. Ultimately, the choice is mine. She is like the Karl Rove to my George Bush. She bears a strong, sneaky influence, but I am the decider.

Of course, the danger is that this may open up a downward channel, a slippery slope if you will, resulting in Christmas parties with me in hand-knit sweaters with reindeer and blinking lights. And a knit dickie. And knit camouflage pants.

Not because she doesn’t want me to embarrass her. Because she derives pleasure from watching me embarrass myself.

Filed by Bil at 8:32 pm under General, Love