Baby It’s Cold Inside

I literally have cold feet and I mean “literally” literally


Marido and I went to a party the other night. It was a lovely party with lovely people and excellent food (which included the major food groups of cheese, bacon, and chocolate, even combining two of those foods – the cheese and the bacon – into one appetizer – cheese-stuffed, bacon-wrapped dates, which were excellent).

But before the party was the dilemma I always face before I go to an event:

  1. Will there be food? What kind of food? Should I eat now just in case?
  2. Will it be cold?

A sub-category of #2 is, Will this be a shoes-off place. If it is, then I have to plan my inner footwear carefully. The Good Socks only. Not the Old Socks From Target That Do The Trick But Are About To Develop Holes In The Heels.

Anyhow. I had to worry.

I prepared for #1 by eating some cheese and crackers at home, which I should not have done because as I noted, the food was delicious, but on the other hand, we didn’t get there until 7:00 and I usually eat supper about 5:00 which is not too early, haters, when you get up before 6:00 a.m.

(Note to self: Re-load purse snacks.)(And not just with chocolate.)(Some protein, too.)

I prepared for #2 – well, I didn’t.

It was a holiday party. I decided that just jeans and a t-shirt would not be enough, although honestly, people wear jeans and t-shirts to the theatre here.

Wisconsin is not formal.

But I thought at least a skirt and a sweater and some jewelry and a festive scarf. The scarf not so much for decor, though, as for a portable dynamic warming device that can be used to cover whichever part of my body needs more warmth.

We arrived. The host extended his hand for my coat. I took it off, waited, thought, “It’s warm in here!”, and gave it to him optimistically.

Then I ate as one does.

Then I looked for someone I might know so I could pretend to be happy conversing on a Friday night instead of being at home with a book.

And I did find lovely people to talk to – I just need to be able to clone myself so I can be at a party and at home at the same time.

And then I noticed I was getting cold.

How could that be?

It was warm when I arrived. I had marveled that I was able to be wearing only one layer indoors and yet be warm enough. I had marveled at the women who had exposed shoulders, a daring choice even in the summer here.

(At work, I am known as The Woman Who Always Is Wearing Her Winter Coat Indoors.)

(Right not, at home, I am wearing my pajamas, my fluffy robe, my fluffy socks, and my fluffy slippers, and I am still cold.)

But now? Now I was cold. How could that be?

Like, I was cold and felt a draft.

Because the porch door was open.

People. It was 22 degrees.

And the door was open.

Who does that?

I said something and got the answer, “The beer’s on the porch!”

I answered, “If only there were a way to allow people to go from indoors to outdoors without letting all the warm out!”

“But it’s too warm in here!” was the answer.

I asked a few other people if they were cold.


Only me.

The porch door was open and, it turns out, the kitchen window was open as well.

This is not my place.

I mean, Wisconsin is not my place and that house was not my place.

So I went into the bedroom, got my coat, and counted the minutes until we left. It took my feet an hour to get warm once we were home.

No. More. Parties.

I am done.

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