This morning, as I waited for the subway in the bitter, bitter cold, it occurred to me to put my gloves on. Do not ask me why I wasn’t wearing them already, because I don’t know; the level of ineptitude with which I approach outerwear baffles me.
But I knew there were gloves in one of the pockets of my overcoat, and they were pretty fabulous gloves: purple with sparkly thread woven through. So I just had to figure out which pocket. This one? Empty. That one? Some receipts from three months ago for God knows what. This one here? Some loose change (low denominations) and a broken pair of iPod headphones. Pocket after pocket, no gloves, and my hands were getting colder and colder, so in a frenzy I thrust each hand into one of the two remaining pockets.
In one were my fabulous gloves.
In the other was an unopened Twix Bar of which I had no memory whatsoever. I didn’t remember buying it, I didn’t remember putting it in my pocket.
Actually, as I think about it, my inappropriate use of outerwear makes total sense; if every time I forget to put something on I find chocolate I didn’t know was there–well, what’s a little limb-endangering frostbite?
Following your line of reasoning to its logical conclusion, I hypothesize that if you go outside naked, someone should drive by and cover you in hot ganache.
I’m sure that, in the interest of science, you’ll test that hypothesis later today. Don’t forget to report the results.
(W)hat’s a little limb-endangering frostbite?
In this case, a weight management plan. And shivering burns calories. Keep your hands out of your pockets.
My solution – carry your gloves in your hand – until you realize your fingers are frost bitten then put them on. God I hate wearing gloves.
whats wrong with finding chocolate??
Herr Faustus, you’re gay… If outerwear isn’t exceptionally tailored a la D&G, then cinched in yet further (thus destroying any reasonable insulation factor), it’s not nearly fabulous enough. However, I can offer a solution, as ‘Mastering the Art of French Cooking’ Volumes I and II finally came in last Saturday. This means I am now fully qualified to make the hot ganache so kindly suggested as a winter “coat” by Ted. Though I cannot promise immaculate tailoring a la Gabbana, said confection shall certainly be at least semi-Dolce, and rather form-fitting to boot. So, in review, we can offer you the finest of French hot chocolate shells, with attached gloves/booties upon request, and no pockets to clutter. Winter-wear problem solved? Just remember, until you respond in the positive, I’m sitting on several pounds of truly delicious cocoa.