This day, the timing was a little bit off.
After the loss on the blue turf, which I was positive was going to be a win, the mojo took a hit. Another five hours in the truck. Another windy, blustery day. Another ride home in the dark with creatures lurking at the sides of the road.
So I ride in one layer of clothing — and pack like I will never return to my dwelling.
I have this cool canvas bag the daughter bought for me, but it doesn’t seal at the top. In goes all of the extra clothing that will fit — and that I think I might possibly need. Last week, it also held wrapped birthday gifts for the bestie who sits to the left of the friend.
Fortunately, the bag inspection guy didn’t find them.
So it holds ancient “ski” gloves — the warmest I have — in a hideous shade of lavender. But hey, when it’s cold you can’t be completely color coordinated.
And a big creamy, loose-woven endless cowl scarf, which can stretch from my throat to my nose and ears if needed.
I detest hats, but I even threw in one of those.
After the pregame meal, it’s time to begin adding the layers — two extra, top and bottom. But once they are on, I am sweltering and I have to be outside. And the friend is never ready to leave the warm confines of the IPF.
So last week, I tried something a little different to distract him. I tried to buy a motor home on the spot.
Nearly succeeded, except for the part about knowing what my checking account balance was.
So I was wandering around with my over-full bag and my gigantic coat thrown over my arm. It’s ridiculously heavy.
But it’s the warmest one I own, thus the reason for its selection that day.
In many years, it’s been worn only a handful of times. It’s that heavy.
It’s gorgeous, and it looks real.
It’s a short cut, but on me it nearly reaches my knees.
It has a shawl collar that allows my short linebacker neck to be completely absorbed. I can hide in it up to the eyebrows if things aren’t going well.
It has clasp closures and deep slash pockets.
It’s a thing of beauty.
And it was $5.
My sister is the thrifter in the family. Years ago, prior to my mid-July birthday, I received a ridiculously too heavy to ship box in the mail.
And on my sweltering birthday, I opened it.
The note explained that she found it at her St. Vincent De Paul Thrift Store, which is her favorite place to shop. It still had the brand-new tags on it. I don’t know many designers, but I know this one, and let’s just say this is the only thing I own from him.
But the thing is, it was my size.
And it was $5.
The sister and I surmise that the reason for its price is that no one else my size would think it was a smart purchase — or a good look for them. Let’s just say I hope those around me don’t have bear spray.
But no one else my size who shops at that Wisconsin store sits outside at 7,220 in the dark.
My friends in the parking lot complimented the giant thing over my arm.
I insisted on telling them the whole story.
“You have to write about that,” one said.
It’s fake — and I love it.