Gone Soft

The first time was in the dark of night. It was my sister who turned me on to it; she’s always been a bad influence. I was stuck at home during a snowstorm. I figured no one would know, no one would see. But that once was all it took. After the first time, I couldn’t do without it. The thought almost made me panic. I drove across town to get it. I had to have more.

I even tried a cheap knockoff in the attempt to support my microfleece habit. Instead of the real stuff, I threw some pajamas made of the crappier kind into my cart while buying groceries. And worse—though microfleece is not by nature one of your sexier fabrics, some misguided designer had tried to make this garment look snazzy by putting a sparkly thread in the furry fleece. Unfortunately, this had the opposite effect: it looked like a Yeti who’d run away from the mountains of Nepal to become a Las Vegas Show Gorilla. A Sadly Sassy Sasquatch. An Abominable Snow Ho.

But that’s how bad the addiction was, you see. I had to have it anyway.

I thought it would be heavenly warm (it is) and heavenly soft (it isn’t). The problem is those darned shiny threads—they jab. Who needs a bed of nails when you’re sleeping in a garment of pins? Like an idiot, I washed it thinking that would soften it somehow. I also thought it would help wash some of the store germs off. Now I can’t return it.

So it sits in the giveaway bag, ready to transform some lucky thrift-store shopper into Trashsquatch, the South Pole-Dancing Bigfoot. I can spare it now, though. I found a pair of microfleece pajamas that make me look like a fuzzy convict. Except instead of doing hard time, I’ll snuggle up with a good book and do soft time instead. Ahhh.

           

The receptionist, wearing mostly her bones, but also a black blouse, a very short black skirt, black tights, black shoes, and deeply red lipstick, checked around and said Robert could do me in about twenty minutes. ~Elizabeth Berg, The Pull of the Moon

Cold and Colderer (and Word Meme)

If you are here for “Succinctly Yours,” please skip to below the quote, and thank you for visiting!

So far we’ve weathered (get it?) stuck cars, frozen locks and lots of shoveling. Still, that sci-fi-sounding polar vortex aside, I don’t really despise winter. I’m just superstitious enough that I feel like I must whisper this, however, lest some wicked winter warlock decides to make me regret admitting it.

Today was the day we were supposed to head back to school, but I do usually wish I had just one more day off. And in many ways, the experience brought back my youth in Nebraska.

The difference is that now I have no problem dressing for the cold, whereas when I was young, I was more concerned with unflatteringly puffy coats and ugly hats. Today when I emerged from the bathroom in my snow shoveling gear, the cat ran for his life, clearly fearing I’d morphed into the Abominable Snowmom. Even after treats and reassurances, he hugged the walls and cast wide, wary eyes at me. It was funny until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized I looked like a Monsters, Inc. creature. I swished when I walked and had hair that sprouted out of the top of my ear warmers like a freakishly huge pea hen.

Shoveling didn’t improve the hairdo any—and this from someone who regularly plays the “Which Male Lord of the Rings Character Does My Hair Now Resemble” game (hint: it’s never Legolas, and when it’s Aragorn, it’s always that end-of-war do when it’s clear he hasn’t washed it in at least six Orc battles…only way, WAY less sexy on me).

Now that the shoveling is accomplished, snow (and my hair) aren’t so bad again. This storm produced a sparkling white magic that so silently whipped up a new landscape, submerging scenery so that benches were buried and swing set seats were erased, whited out, their chains seemingly anchored to nothing.

For some of us, living in the tropics would be like eating nothing but chocolate all the time. Sounds heavenly until you get a hankering for chicken or even Aunt Roberta’s string beans.

So for now, anyway, at least while I sit here with leftover Christmas treats and the premiere of Downton Abbey on DVR, I’m okay being snowed in. Happy 2014.

In the long run the pessimist may be proved right, but the optimist has a better time on the trip. ~Daniel L. Reardon

Thanks to the extra time our snowstorm has given me, this week I’ve decided to try participating in “Succinctly Yours” over at Grandma’sGoulash. The idea of this meme is to use the photo as inspiration for a story of 140 characters or 140 words (or fewer). Mine is 133 characters, not counting spaces, and the bonus word was "theory."

Gary, ever the perfectionist, had a theory about how Elvis impersonation should be done. When he played “You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hound dog,” he got a bit literal.