PINK COAT! PIIIIINK COOOOOAT!!!

It was a few degrees over 60 when I left the house this morning. Fall has arrived, but I'm still waiting for Summer's Last Bitchslap, which I KNOW is on deck. Happens every year. They used to call it Indian Summer, but they decided on more PC-friendly terminology. Hence, "Summer's Last Bitchslap."

When I woke up this morning, having been forced to migrate to the very edge ofimy bed by 1.) the downward pitch of my bedroom floor and 2.) the living mountain of blankets and pillows against which I am constantly battling but cannot sleep without, I thought, "It's cold! And not just because I somehow managed to end up completely coverless, despite the enormitude of blankets piled up beside me, but because it's COLD! YAY! I get to wear Pink Coat!"

Piiink Cooat, Piiiink Coooat... I love my Pink Coat. Lemme give you a little background. Pink Coat, like all of my favorite things, was handed down to me by Ms. Kimberly Daher, whom I don't think wore it even once. She purchased it at H&M, known for their trendiness (and now for having booted Kate Moss for being stupid enough to get caught doing mountains of blow while, presumably, someone was watching over HER YOUNG SON), but not necessarily their quality.

I tried on Pink Coat and it was like finding a long lost friend! The color and the cut suit me very well, and I always get compliments on Pink Coat whenever I wear it, which is a lot. Last year, I wore that thing until excruciating nipple pain and the threat of pneumonia forced me into my black wool trouser coat for the winter. AND, it's machine-washable! CLUTCH, if you know me. And most of you do, which means you have witnessed me leave the house and then mysteriously, five minutes later, end up with a random stain in my boob area.

I was kinda chilled pretty much the entire time I was getting ready for work, so by the time I finally was ready to pull Pink Coat from the hanger upon which she had summered, I was very anticipatory. I neeeeeeded my Pink Coat, because I was about to have to go through a somewhat traumatic experience, and I knew she would supply the comfort needed to endure that situation.

I pulled Pink Coat from the hanger and put her on. Since I was more than half-expecting to feel like Superman after he realized that yes, actually, the world really WOULD fall down around his ears were he to just stick with his day job, and so then dug the ol' cape and blue unitard out of the laundry basket to glorious, bad-guy-ridding results; to say I was disappointed in what happened next would be suitable as THE UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR.

Pink Coat is HUUUUUUUUUGE!!!

Over the past several months it has become glaringly obvious that clothes are resistant to change, at least, change in your favor. In fact, over the weekend I went through my winter clothes and realized that most of it is now unwearable, and barring a sponsorship from Quaker Oatmeal or Planters Nuts, there is no way I am going to be able to afford to clothe myself for the winter and so will therefore have to spend it naked. Or wrapped in a blanket. I'm still trying to decide how to best handle this in public places.

But Pink Coat... Oh, Pink Coat... I had not expected you to end up SO ILL-FITTING! And even though I got you for free, I'm not sure you're worth the major reconstruction I would have to commission in order to restore you to your properly-fitted, pink flattering awesomeness. WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT??? OF COURSE YOU ARE, PINK COAT!!! OF COURSE YOU ARE! Hold me.

Pink Coat, hanging on me like I don't know what, accompanied me to Hope & Union, where I knew I was about to undergo some serious emotional stress. It being a tad over 60, and me wearing a coat, it seemed somehow...I don't know, gauche?...to order an iced coffee. The guy behind the counter (the same guy who came to the whole, "Wait, all those times you ordered two iced coffees - they were for you?" realization), automatically gestured toward the environmentally-friendly styrofoam iced coffee cups. I shook my head "no" almost imperceptibly, but he observed it astutely and said, "WHAT? NO ICED COFFEE?"

And I said, "No, I think it's time for the hot stuff..." The hardest words I've ever said. I've never felt so cold and alone before...so...bereft. And now, not even my sassy Pink Coat could comfort me, since I looked absolutely fucking ridiculous in it. And then, a miraculous thing happened! The guy behind the counter, without thinking, upon my request for hot coffee, AUTOMATICALLY HANDED ME A LARGE CUP. I knew then that everything would be OK.

I stumbled through the whole coffee fixing process, like I was trying to do everything left-handed. Ok, ok...so, put the cup under the carafe and what? Oh! Press down once, twice, three times...Ok, leave room for milk and bubbles...Ok, so, milk, got it, but not too high! NOT TOO HIGH! JEEZ! You'll make a mess. Ok, look up to your right, reach for Sweet 'n Low, NO! No, remember? Sweet 'n Low for cold bevvies, Splenda for hot bevvies and everything else...Ok, two Splendas, very good, now stir it...NO, dummy! Not with a STRAW! Straws are for iced coffee! Use a stirrer...that's it, good job!

We made it out of Hope & Union; my coffee and my Pink Coat. I had to proceed carefully, since I was unused to walking with a hot beverage in danger of spilling and burning me. I would stop to sip it every now and again. It lasted me all the way to my desk! So, see? The Good really DOES come bundled with the Bad.

Pink Coat requires major reconstructive surgery, but I'll be able to make it through with the help of a full 20 oz. of piping hot coffee every day. And I'm not sad, I know I'll meet iced coffee again one day...probably during Summer's Last Bitch Slap.