Ponchos. Ugh. No one who lived through the 70's should be forced to make a poncho. Somewhere in a thrift store there lurks the angry orange poncho my mother knit for me when I was 11. I loved that thing, save for the fact that there were no arm holes and every time I wanted to, say, use my arms the front would flap up over my face, blinding me, which sort of negated the whole "I'm cool because I'm wearing a poncho" effect.
But when your little brewer asks for one and looks at you with those big, big eyes and says her favorite color in the WHOLE WORLD is purple (at least today it is), how could I refuse?