A Theory
There is no better way to feel both like a petulant child and a grouchy adult than when getting dressed to go out in the cold:
The iPhone says it’s 46 degrees out now; that’s quite brisk. Ugh, my sleeve is bunching in the other sleeve. I should wear a sweater-vest underneath this sweater. The cold zipper edge is touching my neck and I hate it. It will warm up! This scarf is making my hair all static-y. If I don’t wear a scarf this sore throat could become a full-blown cold and then I’ll really be in a pickle. I can’t bend my elbows! My range of motion is slightly limited, but at least I’ll be warm outside. I have to pee. No. Shut up and go to work.
When I woke up today, Boston.com said it was 32 degrees out. So I went the whole nine yards—extra socks, leggins under jeans, sweater, gloves, scarf, hat, winter jacked. Stepped outside and it wasn’t too bad in the sun. As I walked I discovered it actually was kind of warm out. By the time I got onto the T I was shedding layers. Now I have to walk around with all my extra clothing stuffed into my already full bag, and I have to grocery shop on the way home. Oyy.
