One of the lesser known facts about Yours Truly is that I own a loom. Not a very big one, mind you; it’s just big enough to make scarves (or maybe placemats if I was feeling truly industrious), but I bought it during my senior year of high school and have considered it to be the barometer of my relationships ever since.
It takes a while to weave a scarf on a loom. You have to measure out the threads for the warp, and if you screw up the tension, you’ll end up with a wonky, intestinal looking thing that you could try to pass off as “artsy,” but really, what sort of straight guy wants to wear an “artsy” scarf that his domestically-challenged girlfriend wove for him?
Then, once the warp threads are measured, you actually have to warp the loom, which involves passing several dozen individual strands through several dozen individual heddles using a series of intricate tools. (Okay, I actually use an old paperclip that’s been unfolded into a single hook, but it still takes forever).
Once you warp the loom, you have to prepare a shuttle before you can actually start weaving anything, and once you start weaving, you have to refill the shuttle every few minutes. Unless of course you’re distracted by BBC costume dramas… then it’s closer to every few hours.
Needless to say, weaving a scarf takes way longer than knitting a scarf. As such, I don’t bestow my woven scarves upon just anyone. Oh no. They’re reserved for special people: my mom, my dad, myself and two of my former boyfriends—they’re only the ones who have been scarf-worthy.
I can still remember the yarn I bought especially for my first two boyfriends: the first got a blend of blue, green and purple (which in hindsight, probably looked quite girly but he was kind enough not to say so at the time) and the second got a soft, off-white angora.
(At least I think it was angora… I’m not quite the textile nerd I used to be.)
I thought about weaving a scarf for my boyfriend in London when I moved back to the States two years ago and even went so far as to perusing the shelves of the specialty yarn shop on South Street (I don’t do polyester) but I something told me he wasn’t quite scarf worthy.
Something told me he wasn’t quite worth the effort of hooking six dozen strands of yarn with a paper clip…
Or buying fancy, non-polyester yarn.
Or nearly blinding myself in an effort to get the scarf warped, woven and mailed to London in time for Christmas.
We broke up shortly thereafter.
Since then, my loom’s been collecting dust on the top shelf of my closet. Why? Well, part of it stems from the fact that I finally have a life (or something along those lines) and as such, I don’t have a lot of time to sit around watching BBC costume dramas weaving scarves for the men I love.
But like I said, that’s only part of it. The truth of the matter is it’s been four years since I’ve dated anyone who I’ve found scarf-worthy.
Do you have any idea how long four years is?
Four years without a proper “I love you.” Four years without a Christmas present. Four years without loving anyone enough to weave them a f*cking scarf.
Methinks its high time for a change.