Saturday's sun was irresistible. So I went out in it, walking east before making up my mind. A couple blocks in, a text from a friend: "If you're on one of your 'walks', stop by Britannia's tennis courts. My daughter's in a skateboard competition. Just girls."
Hard to call this a competition when everyone was bent-over-backwards supportive of each other, though I suppose you can have it both ways these days.
South of the courts were tables. Goods and good cheer. A boyfriend was selling his girlfriend's crocheted hats (she was competing). I saw one I liked, and was about to meet his price ($40), when I asked about the yarn, and he told me automatonically: "They're a hundred percent acrylic."
I thought of the wool and cotton hats my mother used to make for me, how quickly they lost their shape, only to be reminded by the young man's mother, who sensed my disappointment, that "Acrylic bounces back." She took the hat from my hands and played it like a concertina. "See?"
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