In all fairness, once I was introduced to the concept of putting on linen beneath the wool, I was just fine with the idea, but that was after I wrote the piece. ;) This was once published at Pennsic XXIX, and now dedicated to Vitale. - Ana Toletensis Wool in August (or, The Not So Newcomer's Lament) I attend some sewing classes. I research the proper books.I can avoid "the prom dress with the zipper" dirty looks.I can document with copies of museum catalogues.I have passably extemporized with Spanish pedagogues. They've given me a purple sleeve to show they like my muses.The trouble with that now is that I have fewer excuses.I must still count my pennies, and cut corners where I can,But as for Hispanic letters, you'll find few bigger fans. I can take a Castilian chorus of the 12th centuryAnd I can write a minor epic to fit to the melody.But there's one thing I just cannot do, no matter how I try.I'd almost rather catch the plague, sneeze once or twice and die. I can't wear wool in August. I am cringing at the thought.Methinks that authenticity can be too dearly bought.I can't wear wool in August. I just know that I would itch.The heat and scratchy stuff against my skin would be a bear. It's hot enough in Aethelmarc when August rolls around.All that perspiration will just wear me to the ground.Because I once lived in Trimaris with its famed humidity,There's one article of clothing that on me you will not see. I won't wear wool in August. Try to make me if you can.I would rather kiss a Tuchuk, or from Royal Court be banned.I won't wear wool in August. I would rather fight than switch.Put wool on me in summer, and I'll turn into a bear.
