No, I want to imagine myself in my ballet flats, tiny Audrey Hepburn bangs, and striped t-shirt, wandering among the flower stalls in Paris with a baguette peeking out of my French Market Bag.
But since nothing about that scenario is actually going to happen--especially the very short bangs part, eek! Not a good look for me--I decided to enlarge the bag and give it the ability to close. Which makes it eminently more practical for schlepping stuff to the library, n'est ce pas?
But sigh, it was not to be. As I gleefully modified the pattern on the fly as I knit, I had more confidence in the felting process' ability to cover a multitude of sins than was, perhaps, warranted. When I finished felting I had a floppy, disproportionate bag unworthy of its name. I was about to say as much when my darling daughter caught sight of it and gasped, "Mommy! It's beautiful!!" So of course, I said, "I'm glad you think so! I made it for you!"
She will use it as a Moses basket for her dollies, but her little brother discovered its true function: