All Because My Office Was Cold

It’s all because my office is cold.

We’re heading into the final third of May -- Memorial Day is this coming Monday -- and Spring has not yet arrived. Of the past ten days, only ONE has been sunny, and the temperature hasn’t risen above 72 degrees. It feels like the middle of March, with the occasional foray into the sixties being a reason to celebrate.

People are surly.

Today, I am wearing my son’s hand-me-down fleece hoodie (the outerwear kind) while sitting at my desk. I am hunched into it, holding it closed at my neck because I am just that freaking freezing. No, my window isn’t open. I’ve been fighting a head and chest cold (and losing, for the most part) for the past week.

I am surly.

At a quarter to three, I decide that I need a cup of coffee, both as an excuse to get out of the office for some exercise before it starts raining again, and to warm up. I pull my green wool winter coat over the hoodie. Yeah, it's that cold. As I come out of Dunks, dodging other surly, hunched, chilly pedestrians, I decide to walk further downtown to find a new handbag. The one I have is comfy, roomy, and slouchy, perfect for carrying a universe of odds and ends (my morning yogurt, my Kindle, my to-do book, the empty travel coffee mug at the end of the day), but impossible to locate my house keys or train pass or ringing cell phone in quickly. I need a sectioned, structured bag with designated pockets, but in a size sufficient to slip my laptop into if I decide at the last minute to do work at home.

I wander the accessory aisles at TJM. I’m shocked at the prices. Do people really spend $119 for a handbag? Really? Isn’t this supposed to be the off-price store, you know, 60% off department store prices? I mean, if the price tag starts with a 1 or a 2, it had better only have four digits and a decimal point. Anyway, I find a nice large bag -- not big enough to be mistaken for a beach bag or anything -- in a bold, bright print, a perfect antidote for my Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Hmmm. Maybe I should get a belt to go with it. A brown belt to match the brown straps of the handbag. (No, really, that’s how I shop. I’m not a fashionista, in case you haven’t noticed.) I do have a couple of nice belts at home, but I’ve lost about thirty pounds over the past year or so (the Post-Surgery Complication Diet -- wouldn’t recommend it as a first choice, although it left me with a bangin’ size 4 bod) so one hangs around my hips like a big bangle, and the other unhooks itself whenever I stand up. So I pick up a nice white and silver belt, all the rage in fashion these days, it seems.

I think about what I might have in my closet to go with the belt (nothing comes to mind), and head over to browse the shirts and blouses. I find two great tops that beg to be cinched at my newly discovered waist by the belt in my hand, so I grab those. One is dusty rose, a kind of lace-ish fabric layered over knit, and the other is a steel-grey jersey with a row of large rosettes along a wide collar. (My imaginary Stacy and Clinton WNTW intervention voice tells me to stay away from blacks and browns, and to try for something reasonably form-fitting.) Should I complete the outfit and snag some pants, or maybe a nice spring skirt? Fortunately for everyone involved, I am not delusional enough to think I’d look good in capris (nobody does), so I head up to the cashier.

Sixty-three dollars. And two cents. I’ve spent $63.02 -- $65.04, if you count the medium coffee from Dunks that started this excursion -- on a whim. Some people should never be let out on their own, especially disorganized people who can’t find their house keys or cell phones in their junk-filled pocketbooks. Is this what they call retail therapy? Whatever it is, it worked. I feel fabulous. I will be bringing my lunch for the rest of this week and next, but I will look great.

And you know what? It’s all because my office was freaking cold.