Tomorrow over lunch I'm going to the fabric store. There is something dangerous about working in the heart of downtown Boston. Lunch breaks if you are willing to bolt your food can be an adventure. Fabric at Winmill, buttons and yarn at Windsor Buttons, coffee everywhere, books at Borders, and then there are all of the boring clothing shops too.
I love the idea of fabric, which is why I have a huge stash of it in the closet. Of course, that fabric is not a fleece. My tastes and that of my friends were always a little eclectic. I have velveteen I used for houppelande1 (and yes, I'm way too lazy to look it up), scraps of panne velvet from a monstrosity of hand sewing, leftover bits from a handmade kimono for a costume I made a few years ago, etc. I need something soft and hopefully stretchy that is black. You'd think I would have this, but no. I apparently don't need black fabric.
1Yeah. I was a nearly card carrying member of the SCA. My first event was an object example of why you need a period name before you attend. Or need super wallflower power. Unsurprisingly I earned myself a reputation by eating.
