How I came to buy yet another Irish wool sweater

I was exhibiting great restraint at the Blarney Woolen Mill. Grrrrreeeaaaattttt restraint. Walked right past the piles of Aran sweaters with their creamy yarn and traditional stitches.

 Those cables. Seriously.

Looked at, didn't touch, wraps in the shades of the Irish flag.

Loved the layered look. Irish wool + Irish lace = Heavenly.

I even tried on a gorgeous, lavender-heather sweater coat that was on sale for an amazingly good price, admired myself for a while in the mirror, tried on a matching hat (also on sale) and then put the whole ensemble back on the hanger. I don't need another Irish wool sweater. Plus, I knit. I have looked upon the magnificence of my yarn stash at home and declared that I shall not buy another sweater until I have knit up said stash of yarn.

But then came the tempters. The manager of the Mill descended upon me, telling me that a knitter not buying a gorgeous sweater is like a chef never going out for a delicious meal in a restaurant (good point). Our darling saleswoman, Geraldine, told me that the color was soooo lovely, and turned my eyes the color of the sea. Then I heard rustling coming from pockets and purses on both sides of me. Suddenly, a $20 American bill was slipped into my left hand (from Aunt Sheila) and a 50 Euro note was slipped into my right (thanks, Mom).

And that, my friends, is how I came to be the owner of another Irish sweater.

And a hat to match.