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Okay. I am all done with my craft fairs, a feat which I survived only due to the unending help and driving-around and food-getting and wise counsel of online acquaintance and new real-life friend Kethrai, not to mention the info and moral support and table-sharing supplied by the adorable Nikita. I suppose there is a lot to say about that, but I've been traveling, packing, unpacking, folding, unfolding, fussing, labeling, fluffing, notating, counting, moving, shaking, fretting for the last ten days or so, and my brain is dull and empty of all thoughts save one: I am thinking about Christmas sweaters.

I admit that I live a sheltered life, which is probably the whole problem here, but I am flummoxed by the phenomenon of the Christmas sweater. It turns out that when you start going to craft fairs in December in various parts of New England, you see a damn lot of them. Like a WHOLE LOT, more than my previously mentioned sheltered, hipster-insulated lifestyle would have led me to believe was possible: women in black leggings with L.L. Bean walking boots, teased shellacked hair, and "wacky" oversized sweaters