We had a spring break here in the Northeast this week. Two days in the middle of the week went to 75 degrees. Just three days before, we were blanketed with five inches of snow. In case you missed it, or for those of you who love watching me be ridiculous:
But like I said, three days later, we were wearing shorts, flip-flops, and sleeveless tops. It was crazy. And this brings more angst than one would imagine. I had a pretty important business meeting on the second day of spring fever. It took me hours to find clothing for this meeting. Have you ever had that problem? It wasn’t just that I wanted to look nice, but this weather phenomenon was my own personal global warming nightmare.
First, like Gus, the second most famous groundhog in Pennsylvania, I don’t need to keep svelte for a February performance like Punxsutawney Phil. I kind of layer up for warmth in the winter, if you know what I mean. And I don’t mean clothing…I mean I’m part black bear and add a layer of warming fat to my bones….strictly for hibernation purposes.
What this means in the emergency situation of a February heat wave is that well, none of my pants fit. At least none of the pants that are made for warm weather. Which would be okay, I’ve been here before and can usually rectify that by Easter (as long as it doesn’t come too early, Lent is the great equalizer. Thank you, Jesus.)
In the alternative, I think I’ll wear a dress or a skirt. But lo and behold, my toenails look like a cross between Wolverine’s talons and a forgotten jar of mustard in the back of the fridge. I try not to have pedicures during the winter to give my toenails a break from the lacquer. It does make a difference, for the health of my toenails. Covered in UGGS, socks, slippers and even fashionable boots all winter long makes for healthy feet. But not pretty feet.
Why that matters is because I don’t have summer shoes where your toes are hidden. So now I’m pantsless and shoeless or sweltering hot in sweaters and wool trousers pretending I’m having hot flashes for a whole meeting. Perhaps there is an upside to menopause.
WHAT DO I DO?
I realize that no one is looking at me.
How the hell did I forget that middle-aged women are invisible? This would make me quite angry at any other time. I’m a ‘look-at-me’ kind of gal. For this one day, I’m embracing my invisibility and wearing shoes with my un-pedicured toes sticking out.
I’d show you a picture, but I’m invisible. So there, Harry Potter.
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Cathy is the author of Showering with Nana: Confessions of a Serial Caregiver and