The nights are getting nippy here in Colorado. My husband has an alternative pronunciation of that word. No doubt yours does too, but we’ll leave them to their illusions of suggestive originality, shall we?
The other day I crawled in bed to watch last year's tragically abbreviated season of Heroes with hubby. Only a moment passed before I was up again, pulling a second pajama shirt over my head and digging around in the sock drawer for some woolies.
My husband groaned. In typical caring wife fashioned, I grumbled, “What’s your problem?”
Kory responded with his best Discovery channel narrator voice. “The cold winter months have come at last, and the female of the species begins the laborious task of fashioning her thick winter coat.”
I warned him immediately that there would be no mention of accumulating an extra layer of blubber for the harsher temperatures, but British voice-over guy continued.
“The male of the herd finds himself increasingly isolated by the female as she prepares to weather the winter months. In frustration, he seeks other forms of entertainment, smacking his antlers into trees, destroying small woodland creatures, and challenging other males to pointless competitions for superiority.”
I griped something about the poor female having to corral the young bucks while the dominant male showed off his prowess in senseless masculine pursuits and then we laughed and moved on to our show. (Does anyone else think the Indian professor on Heroes is yummy? Dunk that guy in curry and give me some naan!)
Anyway, it seems that I now have the challenge before me of finding some, I don’t know, less-than-thermal winter night wear. Here’s the problem, you go to the store and you have two choices—slinky, skimpy, and shivery, or thick, toasty, and hideous. Yes, my winter pajamas could be mistaken for men’s. They’re plaid, shapeless, and, oh, so warm. It’s a dilemma. A real dilemma. But as long as I’m not adding yet another layer of insulating fat, I don’t think DH has any grounds for complaint. And if he does, well, surely there's a rabbit around to serve as a football.
Beware of the “Sagging Middle”
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