By Misty Knisely
Ahh, autumn. It’s the most beautiful time of year.
Mother Nature shows us the full spectrum of her creativity. There’s a crispness in the air, masked only by the faint smell of fall bonfires off in the distance.
It’s also, annoyingly, when the incessant complaining about my outfit starts.
Here’s the thing. I’m always hot. Always. Touch my arm and you’ll find it’s actually giving off heat.
Come to think of it, that might be a good way to make extra money on the side. I could stand in the middle of your house, acting as a heat source. “I’ll cut down your electric bills!” my marketing material will shout.
If I were to utter the words “I’m cold,” the calendar would read Dec. 21 and there would be, in fact, an apocalyptic event that ended the world. Provided we’d still be able to publish after said apocalypse, you would read about my utterance on the front page of the Kokomo Tribune. It would be that big of news. So much so that it would outshine the world’s demise. That we sorta saw coming. My being cold would be a revelation of epic proportions.
It just doesn’t happen. I just don’t get cold. I’ve been this way my whole life.
As a child, my family would literally burn me out of the house. In the dead of winter, to escape the oven I called home, I would stand on the front porch, bare feet against cold concrete. I would stand there long enough to recovery before returning to suffer through the inferno my family enjoyed.
When I grew up and became an “adult,” I basked in my independence. Not the ability to eat what I wanted or go to bed when I wanted. For the first time in my life, I was ruler over the thermostat. I resisted the urge to lord over it with a crown and velvet robe, swatting a jeweled staff at any minion who dared approach.
“This is my land,” I would declare to my subjects. “No heat shall pass!”
I wear flip flops and sandals until there is snow on the ground. Even then, there are exceptions to that rule. This results in friends, coworkers and people I pass on the street getting on me about my perceived lack of outerwear, saying something about it being “cold.”
Because of this, I bought a new coat a couple years back. It’s a pea coat-style, black number I get a lot of compliments on. Not so much on the style, but that I’m wearing a coat at all.
Everyone: Oh, I like your coat.
Everyone: It’s so nice to see you actually wearing a coat because it’s so cold out.
Me: Yeah, I decided I should start dressing appropriately for winter. I’ve seen the errors of my way.
Everyone: Good job!
The trick is, though, this isn’t just any coat, mind you. It’s actually a light-weight sweatshirt material made to look like a winter coat.
I’m sneaky like that.
interim [friday] editor/a walking disco inferno