The romance between me and the cloud bolero has been of the whirlwind sort, but as with all romances, eventually enthusiasm had to confront reality. I cast it it off. I put it on. I wasn't sure.
"I just don't think it's working out, cloud," I thought. "It's not you, it's me. But you're a lovely thing - I have this great friend I could introduce you to."
"Don't say that!" sobbed the bolero, "I can only be what you make me! Don't punish me for your mistakes!"
"I'm sorry, cloud. I've changed. I started out getting gauge but it looks like I loosened up after the arms, and now you're just too big. And you're sort of flaring out at the back."
"But I can change too!" the bolero protested. "I'm adaptable. You could cross the front pieces and make me smaller that way. Or you could let me hang open as a sort of sleeved shawl. I'll try anything! You haven't even blocked me!"
"Well, you are very soft and a nice colour. Perhaps we could experiment to see what makes us happy."
The bolero felt confident enough to press the issue now: "And don't forget our plans for the future! The top you bought to wear with me! The shoes you bought to go with the top! And there's the knitalong, too. People will expect to see us together."
Now I felt myself at a disadvantage. Perhaps I had been too rash. I had certainly been a spendthrift. The bolero deserved another chance. It would be wrong to cast her aside just because she failed to fulfill the platonic ideal of her I cherished at the start. I gently packed her in the knitting bag and agreed that when I finished work today, I would buy some ribbon and we could work things out together.