There is a great difference in the yarn that I would want to be, and the yarn that I probably would be if I was yarn. Maybe just like it is in real life.
If I could choose which yarn I was, the fleece probably would be from an organically-grown and consciously raised Cormo sheep on a small family-operated farm on the picturesque coast of Scotland, or Shetland, or something like that. I would be spun up in fingering weight and dyed in vats of plant dyes, and be shipped off all over the world to people appreciative of natural crafting.
I’d probably be a long-stapled handspun rustic thick and thin sport-weight wool blended with acrylic, or some other unearthly material and coated in the plastic that makes washing wool in a washing machine without felting a reality. I’d be that skein of yarn in the back of every knitter’s stash–the one that they don’t want to toss (because it’s yarn, and nobody feels justified throwing that out, right?), but the one that they can’t bring themselves to use.
Or they might actually be thinking about knitting the scratchiest next-to-skin-wear knitted piece ever made in the know world to give to somebody they don’t like.
The truth is, I’m might be scratchy (grumpy and unfriendly) at first glance, but I think that with washing and wear , I can soften up and not be so bad.