I have often mocked The Husband for premature aging. Before we even had children, we lived next door to a family, who on the night of the youngest's high school graduation, had a party. There was music and drunk kids in the yard and it was all very harmless. He laid in bed all night long and grumbled about their music being too loud. I chuckled softly at the old man I had married.
Then, when we first moved to Sadieville, a teenager down the street from us had his party busted by the cops. Right before the fuzz showed up, the kids went flying out of there, mostly turning around in our front yard. While I giggled and settled in to watch the show, The Husband paced and complained about people driving in our yard. (Just to clarify, we have a lovely green lawn that is more weeds than grass and almost entirely not landscaped, it's not like they were damaging anything. Except my precious, prize-winning dandelions.)
I pride myself on not exhibiting this kind of old lady nonsense. (Of course, I complain about new music and wonder about the attention span of youth, but I have never, NEVER, lectured a McDonald's employee about making change.) Today, though, I must do it. I must unleash my inner blue-hair. With the following unoriginal diatribe.
Put on a damn coat, you idiot. Seriously, what is wrong with the youth of today?!?
Yesterday, I drove by a wreck near the high school. Two young girls were huddled together on the side of the road while the police checked out the damage. One wore a long sleeved t-shirt and a down vest and the other wore (wait for it, wait for it) a nearly see-through sweater and a spaghetti strap tank top. It was seven degrees. I really don't think I'm exaggerating. It may have gotten up to like twelve.
Today, I watched as a girl in her late teens walked into a doughnut shop wearing a skirt with no leggings and long sleeved tee shirt and a scarf. That's it. Today, I believe it was in the 20's.
Now, okay, I get it. Coats are so uncool. Coats were uncool when I was in school, too. I mean, there's just not that much that can be done with one stylistically. And that's okay. I get suffering in the name of fashion. I own high heeled boots. But frankly, there is a level of suffering that is acceptable (high heeled boots) and there is a level that is not (no coat in sub-freezing temperatures).
Despite the horrific uncoolness of coats when I was a teenager, we wore one. Why? Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was because we had parents. Perhaps it was because we had the sense to not turn purple. Maybe it was because we loved the continuation of our lives more. I don't know.
What I do know is that my fine state is setting records in low temperatures. So, please, for the love of all that's good and holy, get a freakin' coat. Put it on your body. Button, snap or zip it up. Rest well in the knowledge that you look great under said coat. Live with it.