Pointless Ramble About Hooded Clothing
I just realized something: I can wear things with hoods now. Not that I necessarily want to, you understand; but I
can. This is somewhat strange to me, since as long as I've been old enough to shop for my own clothes (or at least choose some of the clothes that would be bought for me) I've had to avoid anything with a hood. (While others with long hair might not have this problem, I always found that because of my fine, clingy hair, which had a tendency to latch onto fabric, any shirt with a hood left me looking like hunchback.) This led to the rejection of many otherwise lovely shirts. "Ooh," I'd say, grabbing a shirt off the rack, quickly followed by, "Hood. Damn."
I actually only own one shirt with a hood, namely my classic emerald green sweatshirt. I have had this sweatshirt for years and years, and absolutely love it despite the fact that it's somewhat shapeless and I keep having to sew it back together. I once thought I'd lost the thing, as a large ember from a bonfire we were having at the cottage landed on its hood, burning a noticeable hole through the fabric. (At the time, however, I didn't really notice, beyond muttering something about how someone had thrown something that they shouldn't have onto the fire and that it was causing the most godawful stench.) Yet somehow I just never stopped wearing it, even in public. Guess that says a thing or two about my fashion sense, or lack of one. In fact, I'm wearing it in the picture I posted to show my new haircut.
What? Oh, right. Essay. Working on that. Really, I am.
