Thermals: Turning up the Heat

Once again, work has forced me off the island. Another bland training, another round of ice breaking games, and another unheated cabin. Happily the schedule allowed me a stop at Reny's, the ultimate in Maine department stores. As the nights grow colder, Reny's becomes a wonderland of winter wear: Carharrt, Colombia, and Woolrich galore- at a discount. Walking into Reny's I was a woman with a goal. Wigwam socks, four pairs for the price of three. Good socks are crucial to any sucessful endeavor to get out of bed. Not only are Wigwams toasty, they are also cushy. Really the ultimate in socks if you aren't in pocket enough for Smart Wools or have wool allergies.

The thing is, you have to walk past clothing to get to the shoe/socks section of the store. This meant passing sweaters, polar fleece, thermal tops, hats, mittens, gloves, scarves... I have a fatal weakess for warm wear. I don't know if it is the Swede in me or what, but I have a hard time passing up thermals. What is it about the waffle weave that makes me feel so very minx-like? Despite promises to myself that I wouldn't indulge, I ended up with a shopping basket (socks being awful fumbly things)- and in that shopping basket two thermal tops, one polar fleece and one pair of mitten-glove combos spontaneously materialized. Damn Colombia and their 2008/2009 winter palette.

After I made it out of the checkout, I high-tailed it to the nearest restroom so that I could don a slate-blue shirt, layering it with a soft black polar fleece pull over. Sigh. Jumping back into Jeep, I was the happiest consumer in the world. I carried on with my day, sitting though a redundant power-point presentation, dropping the bombshell that I am planning to stay on the island for another year, etc... When five o'clock rolled around and I headed out the doors of the institute I stopped at that beacon of civilization: the crosswalk. At this point I was sensuously clad in the thermal, jeans, and a scarf- I had shed the fleece... As I remembered I needed to push a button, I heard a long wolf-whistle from a passing car. That's right. I'm not the only one who thinks thermals are hot- and that, my friends, is why I stay in Maine.