GREATCOAT: Story of a Legend

On Christmas Day, much to my delight, there it was- hanging on the door hinge across the room from the christmas tree, shrouded in green paper. I could hardly wait to tear it open, to run my fingers through its thick woolen layers, and to shrug it over my shoulders and feel its delightful weight across my back. I didn't wait long- pulling aside the tape that enveloped it, and stepping back to look.

It was... frumpy. There's not a better way to describe it. The wool was too thick, and wrinkled all over. That afternoon, we attacked it with a steam iron, but even once the biggest and baddest of the wrinkles were gone, there was no way of denying that my dreamy German greatcoat just wouldn't work. Far too thick, only knee-length, impossible to take on and off. We weren't quite sure what to do with it.

Then my own lovely mother did a very lovely thing.
She made me my coat.

It took maybe a month, though she wasn't working then. First came the designing. The best part about having your talented mom make you a coat is that anything goes. The floor-sweeping length? Check. The exquisitely hemmed Belgian back? Check. The blue color of the Torchwood inspiration coat? Check. Fun extras like a brilliant brocaded silk lining? Why the hell not?

After days of childlike excitement, it was finished.
Oh, my, god.
It was worth it.

Detail of the back
The lining is great. It always surprises people when they see it, and if I'm running, it flares out all bright and red.

Unfortunately, at the time of me writing this post, it's already into spring, and this coat, although lighter then the ones I was looking at, is still thick and solid. Soon, it should be too warm to wear it. It's already gotten plenty of use.

And what will I do then? Mope. Then, dryclean it.

And then, hang it away. Wait for the end of summer and the start of fall.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have the best mother ever.