How I’ve pined for a hat with earflaps. I wore one through a couple of bitterly cold, arctic-like winters and I credit my survival to that goofy thing. And to my coat, a parka so heavy and dense it’s quite possibly bullet-proof. Nothing penetrates the fabric, not snow or howling winds or an icy rain. Not even a pickpocket, should one happen to be afoot.
Weather-wise, I don’t scare easily. I slept through a Category 3 hurricane and mowed the lawn while tornado sirens blared, but at the first hint of a nip in the air? I fold like a map. Seriously. I can’t think of anything I dislike more than being cold. It’s a dreadful, bleak sensation that drains me of my usual good humor.
I’ll go to any extreme to prevent such a circumstance from occurring. Beginning in November, I disappear beneath layers of clothing and stay there until I hear the ice cream truck. Groundhogs, the poor bewildered souls, venture out in February in search of their shadow. Not me, I’m in no hurry. I say, let my shadow find me –and it better be bearing a thermos of hot toddies.
Already, barely into the winter season, my skin is dry and chapped and itchy. I have a sunless pallor and perpetual goosebumps, my arms and legs pimply with them. Just about every pocket I have harbors a tissue — coats, sweaters, pants, pjs, skirts. My sleeves, too, they’re loaded like a Pez dispenser.
What has this to do with a hat with earflaps? I don’t know, seems I’ve wandered rather far afield.
Oh, right, my beloved old hat. The thing was bright red, I stood out like a blood blister when I wore it. Then, poof, it went missing after my last move. The winter without it was unbearable, I didn’t warm up until mid-July. This year I put a hat with earflaps on my Christmas list and hoped Santa would come through. And guess what. It’s here, my hat is here. The package was delivered to my door, but not by eight tiny reindeer. By a FedEx truck. When did Santa start moonlighting?
The FedEx part was disillusioning, of course, but the hat is a dream. Red and black plaid, with furry ear flaps and an upturned visor. Sure, I look like a dork, maybe even a nut job, but I can live with that. Heck, I’ll take dorky nut job over shivering hypothermic seven ways from Sunday. Who wouldn’t?
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