So I started this cotton patch four months ago, and the plants are only about 8-9 inches tall at the most, and I see only one possible boll– its pink flower bloomed a few weeks ago, and that’s the most exciting activity I can report after all this time. The entire patch seems to have gone dormant, though most of the plants look healthy, and I can see tiny buds if I crouch down in the dirt with my close up glasses and peer intently into the deepest recesses of the plants. (This probably embarrasses them. How would you like it if somebody put on close up glasses and stared at your private parts? Maybe you would like that.) So it doesn’t look like I’ll be pulling in a crop this year as I’d hoped, which makes me eligible to apply for government subsidies. It’s very easy, I hear. This is the entire application:
Failed Crop: Cotton
And then they ask you where they can send the check. Pretty neat, right? With my money, I will buy cotton clothes already made, and not have to worry about weaving my own cloth– that was going to be my Winter Project, so now I’ll have to think of another Winter Project. Maybe I’ll learn Romanian. Speaking of cotton, in 1984 my sister and I traveled to Europe, where we spent a lot of time in France, Norway, and Italy. After drinking a lot of tall pilsners at lunch, we found a shop in Oslo called Poco Loco which featured beautiful, all-cotton clothes. I bought a bright orange shirt which I wore disco dancing with our cousins in Italy– it showed the sweat REALLY well– and also a pink jumpsuit plastered all over with the Poco Loco insignia. The pants were too tight– I looked like Charo when I put them on– but the top was voluminous and excited a lot of comments wherever we traveled, and a lot of tsk-tsking and head shaking. (I was 28 years old and still at that point where I didn’t care what anyone thought, especially after a day of drinking pilsners.)
Actually, after revisiting the photograph above, taken in 1984 in Oslo, I’ve decided that my Winter Project may yet involve weaving a pair of matching pants that actually fit. And try as I might, I can’t recall what I did with the original pair– for all I know, they may still be in a drawer at the Forbundshotell in downtown Oslo.