A Pointless Post About the Weather. And Clothes.

I live in New England where the weather can be unpredictable. There are often times when I have come upon the problem of what to wear. Especially this time of year.

I mean, I am certainly no fashionista. Just ask my daughter, nieces, and well, anyone who has half a sense of style. The consultation of a color chart to make sure black goes with white is quite necessary in my life.

Please remember I’m from the 80s where you matched your socks to your pocketbook, so getting dressed is as difficult for me as putting a square peg into a round hole.

But I’m not talking about my fashion sense. Or lack thereof.

I’m talking about clothes you wear according to a change in the barometer. It’s not like headaches, and colds, and painful knees aren’t enough, but we also have to worry about our attire.

It’s October here. You know, like it is everywhere. Last week I wanted to pull out my riding boots. The ones I’ve had since 2008 because I have thick calves and these days it’s nearly impossible for me to find boots that I can zip past my ankles.

I googled “when is it appropriate to start wearing boots” and my answer was, “October.” Do you want to know why I googled that? Because I woke up sweating and it was only 6 o’clock in the morning.

I quickly looked at the weather app, and saw that I was sweating for a reason. The temperature was going to climb up to 90 degrees. Certainly 90 degrees in October is different from 90 degrees in August. Right?

Not really. No. Actually. It’s not. I suspect I would have looked silly in boots when it was still technically flip flop weather.

I had to forego my entire outfit — the one that included my beloved boots — and hit the closet again to see what I was feeling. Well, what I was feeling was a sundress and sandals. But that didn’t seem appropriate.

I realize the alternative is to just wear nothing, but I’m afraid the little fact that I went into work wearing nothing but my birthday suit would cause heads to turn, and not in a good way. I would most likely lose my job and end up in jail for indecent exposure. Although I always thought going viral for something would be fun, this is not what I had in mind.

If there were still newspapers, I can only imagine the headline. “Middle Aged Woman Loses Mind and Job Over What to Wear.” With a picture of my face on a body that has been blurred out by Photoshop. All I can say is, thank god for Photoshop.

I guess that means I have to wear clothes. At least to work. Back to the drawing board. So, does black go with white?

These Boots Are NOT Made for Walking

As you know the kid is an irish dancer.  “Worlds” were held in Boston this year.  Our hotel was exactly 0.8 miles from the Hynes Convention Center.  Don’t ask me why, but I made that trip at least 6 times each way the first two days.  On the third day, I did the trip both ways twice plus one way back to the hotel to check out and head for home.  All the time walking it.  If you add in miscellaneous strolls, I walked at least 15 miles in a three day span.  Probably more.

Photo from the Fairmont Copley Hotel Website
Photo from the Fairmont Copley Hotel Website

At the hotel we stayed in, there was a rooftop gym.  The woman in the picture online looked like she was enjoying her workout so much while gazing out at the city.  I felt like I wanted to do that too.  So, as I was packing, I contemplated throwing in some workout clothes.  I said “contemplated.”  I didn’t actually do it.  The only footwear I packed were a pair of black riding boots and a pair of brown riding boots.

Warning:  Boots are not made for walking.  I don’t care what Nancy Sinatra says.  If I had just brought my workout clothes, I would have had my sneakers.  My nice, comfy, kooshie sneakers. And my feet would not have been battered, bruised and yes…bleeding.  On Day One I was the hare on a caffeine overdose.  By Day Three I was a 5″ stiletto wearing tortoise.   My feet were hating me and my brain was conjuring up images of my Nikes sitting on the floor of my closet crying for attention.

These are Lady Gaga's feet, not mine.  But you get the point.
These are Lady Gaga’s feet, not mine. But you get the point.

I am down 6.8 pounds since the start of my weight loss challenge.  After returning from my three day jaunt I didn’t gain an ounce.  Not one ounce.  I don’t need to say why I didn’t lose an ounce either.  I don’t care how much salmon and tuna I chose to eat for dinner.  I’m pretty sure the sauces weren’t made without their fair share of butter.  It also didn’t help that we stopped in a chocolate restaurant for a little treat.  Nothing like a white chocolate martini to end the day.  So, thank you Boston.  Thank you hotel.  Thank you convention center.  Thank you for the opportunity to walk off my sauces and chocolates.  My feet were sacrificed during the process, but I can live with that.