Crushing on Blithe

In sixth grade, I sat behind this boy who had curly, sandy blond hair and these mesmerizing blue eyes. I spent a good portion of my day wondering what it would be like to loop one of those curls through my fingers. This boy had no interest in me other than to give him a copy of my science homework, but I think Blithe is giving me a taste of what those sandy locks may have felt like.

(On a side note, I ran into this boy later in our lives, and his hair had darkened and thinned quite a bit. He wouldn't shut up about "living in the shadow of his older brother." It's nice to know Blithe will never become bitter and bald.)

Kim Hargreaves is my frenemy?

I finally got Blithe in the mail. All the way from England. There she was wrapped in brown paper, just the way Fraulein Maria from the "Sound of Music" would prefer her packages sent.

But what made my day was when I turned it over and saw the custom declaration.


Yep, that says K. Hargreaves. I think Kim Hargreaves package this herself and sent along to the post. (Okay, I admit, there is a strong possibility that someone picked it up from her office and it is actually one of her minions or maybe "Kristin Hargreaves," Kim's well-intentioned, but good-for-nothing-but-signing-customs-declarations, who is responsible, but don't ruin this for me.)

I also love how the return address is from Intake Cottage. Alright, I've been watching a lot of PBS lately, but the idea is charming. Kim doesn't reside/work at some numbered square on some numbered street (like I do). Kim sits in a comfortable chair, with a roaring fire at Intake Cottage and gets up every so often to mail packages with yarn to pathetic Americans who have the misfortune not to live in a cottage or Pemberley.

Inside the package is pretty good too.



Yeah, that's an envelope that contains buttons and a label. Again, charming, but this is where my Blithe love hit a snag.

Although I agree that Kim is the genius behind the garment, I'm knitting the damn thing, I should get some credit there somewhere.

And this my friends is when I realized why the colonists fought the Revolutionary War.
Knitting without representation.