wool for sale

Deb and I both agreed that we didn't need to go into that building, the building labelled "Fleece Sale". So, we didn't. We went into the alpaca tent instead. One half hour later, Deb walked out with a bag of gray fluffy goodness that had recently warmed the body of New York resident alpaca "Magic". The line that had wound around the sheep fleece building was completely gone. Now, we agreed that it wouldn't hurt to peek in, just to see what it's all about. Fleeces of all colors and breeds still filled the long rows of tables, but now the rabid shoppers were gone, leaving us elbow to elbow with polite fiberjunkies like ourselves. Of course, you know what happened next. An hour and a half later, I was toting a gray Romney from Maine and Deb was flipping a bag of Lincoln and a bag of Romney over her shoulders. I blame it on the wool fumes that circulated into our brains, clouding our memories of the bags of fleece already gracing our spare rooms at home.