There's a long-standing belief that pets and pet parents begin to resemble one another. While I do not have a tail, I am quite well-versed in the art of "Bambi eyes" when I really want something, just like my hound dog. When surprised, I get the same gaping expression as my fish. When irritated, I start muttering swear words, much like my budgie. Come to think of it, he resembles ME in that regard, rather than the other way around.
Is it possible that people begin to resemble their hobbies? Perhaps. Since my major hobby is knitting, let's start there.
Like yarn, I tend to get wound up. I have my prickly days and my warm, fuzzy days. If someone gives me grief, I needle them.
I am available in a wide range of colors. I turn pink, I feel blue, and on some days I look green. Work often makes me turn a scary shade of brick red, which makes my co-workers turn white while they try to turn invisible.
The days of my life are like stitches. Some days, the pattern goes perfectly. All of the yarn overs balance with the decreases and everything runs to gauge. Other days are like a bad stockinette scarf. The edges curl and throttle any semblance of pattern. Gauge goes out the window along with my patience and sense of humor. Once in a while, there's a lace day. Lots of changes and intersting stuff. At the other end of the spectrum are the garter stitch afghan days. Endless mind-numbing tedium. Zzzzzzzzzz.
I get frazzled, frayed, knotted, shrunk, stretched, spilled on, sworn at, admired, started, forgotten about, appreciated and over-used. Each of these terms fits at least one of my projects, and those are just the ones in the "current" pile.
I guess if the clothes make the man, then the knitting makes the silfert. Maybe I should focus more on bread-baking as a hobby. I would always rise to the occasion and never run out of dough.