Dear Summer, I love you. I miss you. Please come back soon.

I’m cold-natured. If everyone around me is wearing one layer, I’m probably wearing two. OK, sometimes there’s a stealth layer. I’m big enough to admit it. I might add a scarf, too. And gloves. Fingerless. Because I need to be productive at work, yo. If it’s atypically cold and my body hasn’t had time to adjust, I gotta pull out the crazy-cold formula to determine how many layers to apply before venturing out of the house. Recently, people around me have been wearing two layers which, if you do the math, means that I’m wearing four. Oh, I see where you went wrong there. You forgot that stealth layer.  Totally understandable. And totally shows how much you don’t get me.  Which makes sense because I’m all kinds of strange.

Please don’t diagnose me. It’s not necessary. I’m a hypochondriac, so I’m way ahead of you. One of the more likely reasons for my chill factor is probably that I have the muscle tone of the Pillsbury Doughboy. “Hoo-Hoo.” OR “Hee-Hee.” Look, just because I share the physical characteristics, if not the sparkling charisma, of Poppin’ Fresh doesn’t mean I know what the little pasty fella is saying.

So here’s the thing. With my typical layer count never falling lower than two layers, and usually settling into a rhythm of three to four daily layers in the January-February timeframe, it’s nearly impossible to be unobtrusive about the amount of clothes I’m wearing. I mean it’s pretty obvious that the woman who looks overly layered is, in fact, overly layered, when she can’t bend her silly elbows or do much more than lurch around the place with the awkward arm swinging and inability to bend her arm any more than a very slight 15 degrees. I’m walking around like an overwrought bodybuilder, so intent on building muscle mass that he/she forgot that arm and shoulder movement can be an asset in everyday situations. [I’ll admit that sometimes my formula lets me down, and my overzealous layering means there’s probably going to be a B.O. situation in my near future because my body will not tolerate being hot anymore than it will tolerate being cold. Neat, huh? Just give me a wide berth when passing me and keep our interactions to an absolute minimum. Or try a clothespin. You know, on your nose? It’ll be ok.]

Nighttime requires a similar approach to layer calculation to assure a full night’s sleep instead of a night spent wandering the room searching for elusive blankets while mumbling distractedly and bumping into stray objects like a drunk reveler.  The formula is similar to daytime with the nod to an occasional stealth blanket that I hide in the morning whenever possible so Matthew loses an opportunity to mock me mercilessly. Formula: Matthew requires one blanket? Then, it’s clear that I’ll require three. Wait, it’s a really cold night? Better make it four. And don’t forget to get into a long-haul position at the onset, as all that blanket weight is going to pin me for the night.

I did take important steps to improve the situation recently. I went on a quest for a down jacket. I tried one on in the store that should have been adequate. It wasn’t. I was cold with the jacket on in the store! So I looked around and spotted it. Cue angels singing. I believe there was a spotlight shining straight down from heaven onto that coat. It was the type of coat that people would probably buy for a big ski trip or a terrible winter in Chicago. But not me. I’m sporting that bad boy all around town, and most days I’m even warm. Eureka!!

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