It’s official. Today I crawled out of my cozy warm bed only to discover that it was 13 degrees Fahrenheit outside, which means that turtleneck weather is upon us. And I truly hate turtleneck sweaters–they make me look as if my head is sitting directly on my shoulders, Uncle Fester-style. That’s a shame, too, because with my creased, droopy sixtysomething throat, a high collar would cover a lot of sins.
To the left is Microsoft’s Clip Art rendition of Queen Nefertiti. I’m no Egyptologist, however, judging by all the images of her I’ve seen, Nefertiti must mean ‘Babe-A-Licious Queen with a Very Long Neck’. Which is exactly the kind of shoulder-to-head connection one needs to really look great in a turtleneck. Not that she would have needed one in mid-1300 BC Egypt. But here in Chicago, during a January, 2013 cold snap I can use all the neck warming cover-ups I can get. Unfortunately for me, this is not a body temperature related problem that is attractively remedied.
To be honest, I don’t look so good in any sort of neck-covering, like scarves or Jackie-Kennedy styled pearl chokers or those sexy, velvet ribbons ‘fancy’ ladies in Victorian times used to wear about their delicate, silken throats. But I have to do something to keep from freezing to death, thus I rely heavily on hoodies. Most of the time those hats-attached-to-sweatshirts suit me fine–especially when I’m out walking the dog and don’t mind looking like an ancient Druid.
At this time of year, in my little corner of the world, only a select few can carry off sexy-hot while stomping around the frigid Windy City. Someone like Chicago’s own, Michelle Obama, with her long neck and to-die-for biceps can do it dressed to her teeth in winter gear. It lends her an air of exotic mystery. And that’s exactly how I envision myself as I walk along the city streets, leash in hand, covered head-to-toe and puffing out great clouds of breath-steam. I imagine others are gazing at me, wondering ‘who is that enigmatic lady and what beauteous treasures is she hiding beneath all that quilted polyester and machine knitted cotton?’ Who knows, maybe someone might mistake me for a babe-a-licious First Lady.
Or maybe not.