7:00 AM: Woken up by the phone. It’s my first therapy appointment cancellation. We’ll call this foreshadowing.
7:30 AM: The news plays ominous background music while reporting snowstorm. Relatives and friends call and text. “Is it snowing?” Is it windy? Can you walk? Is your house heated? Are you safe?”
7:32 AM: Look out the window into the yard. Definitely less than a foot. Looks very pretty actually.
8:32 AM: Load myself up with two shirts, one big sweater, my puffy jacket, two scarves and my fluffy fur hat that makes me look ready for January in Moscow. Last stop is my Muck boots. They’re the Rolls Royce of snowshoes. Nothing’s gettin’ through those suckers.
8:45 AM: Get notice of my 2nd cancellation. Can slow my roll. No hurry to get to the office today.
8:46 AM: Am struck by how many people are wearing terribly inappropriate footwear. Sneakers and dress shoes aren’t cutting the mustard today. Don’t be a hero! Get you some snow boots, son!
8:47 AM: Feel oddly smug. I’m never the girl with the best pair of shoes. I could stomp across Fargo in these things.
9:00 AM: In the subway station, notice this sign on the wall. Gut instinct says it’s a joke. I lose a glove every other Tuesday. Who puts up a lost notice for a glove? And who gets sentimental about them?
11:55: Wait eagerly for 12:15 client. Snow days are the nemesis of the fee-for-service worker. Kill time with paperwork. Listen to classic country radio on Pandora. “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?” seems fitting for blustery winter day. Notice benefit to nearly empty office: Can sing country songs no other New Yorkers enjoy.
12:15-1:00 pm: See my one and only client for the day. Look down at her feet as she leaves. Great boots. This lady knows how to handle her snow.
1:00: Supposed to have a meeting, but people leading it haven’t come into office yet. I have no clients scheduled until 4:15 and 5:30. Looking at a long afternoon of playing with my split ends. Ugh. I need a haircut.
1:02: Bathroom break. Hey. I’m just trying to get you a clear picture of my day. Now multiply this by five. I had two cups of coffee this morning.
1:04: Gut whispers that my 5:30 client will cancel because her kids’ school is closed. Call to confirm attendance. Yup- cancelled. Wave of relief washes over me. Call 4:15 client and reschedule for Monday. SNOW DAY!
1:10: Walk outside. Sidewalks incredibly clear. Roads all paved. Only thing Herculean about this snowstorm was the effort made to convince us it was going to be much bigger than it actually was. Still, safety first kids.
1:14: Pass this guy shoveling sidewalk in front of punk clothing store. Drag makeup like a MAC salesperson, midi skirt, fishnet stockings. This is how you shovel on St. Mark’s, people.
1:30: On subway heading home, begin formulating plan to rip into my closet and drawers like a crazy person. Begin salivating. I love getting organized. (It’s staying organized that’s problematic).
2:00: Dump everything out, drawer by drawer, starting with underpants. I throw out all but two thongs because I haven’t worn them since the Bush administration. What’s the expiration date on underwear, anyway? A year? Five? Till the elastic cries for mercy? I pitch anything that would cause embarrassment if I were hit by a car and stripped down at the hospital.
2:20: Now onto braaaaas. Toss, keep, toss, keep. Some of these have so much padding it’s a wonder they even fit in my apartment. Toss. Then neatly cradle survivors in a tidy row in top drawer, like they do at Victoria’s Secret. Man, I feel like a woman.
2:45: The piece de resistance. Socks. I’ve been throwing them haphazardly in a big mesh basket in my closet for years. Nothing is paired. Nothing makes sense. Just one big cotton tangle. Vin looks at me with disdain every time I pull it down. I am shame.
2:47: Dump all socks on my bed. Spread them around the comforter and turn on very bright lights. MATCH EVERY SINGLE PAIR. I’ve never been more proud of myself in my entire life. Today is the day I will make my husband fall in love with me all over again.
4:00: And now. The closet. At first it looks like this. Oof. (See socks: top right corner).
4:15: Am almost in tears admitting it’s time to throw out a 10-year-old skirt with stains all over it. Get choked up over a too-small Cubs t-shirt purchased during our road trip from Colorado to New York. Suddenly find tremendous empathy for Lost Glove Girl. Consider texting her just to check in and make sure she’s okay.
By 5:30, the closet looks like this (see below). Begin official countdown to see how long it will last.
6:00 PM: Yay! Vin’s home. Aaaaaand he’s starving. Before I let him hop on Seamless, I show him my sock drawer. I bow down on one knee and open it slowly to add drama. He is FLOORED.
6:01: Okay, I was being dramatic. He is merely impressed.
6:30: We order Japanese food. Sushi for me, fried chicken katsu for him. I feel energized and happy after the meal. Can’t stop opening my drawers and closet to admire my day’s work.
7:30: Vin is passed out cold on top of a pile of reject clothing and a few errant unmatched socks.
8-10: I watch the predictably insipid “Valentine’s Day” while Vin naps. They don’t waste any time pumping holiday-themed viewing, do they? Wish Vin were awake to give his commentary.
11:00: Join Vin in slumber. Dream of fresh, pure, lily-white New York City snow. Because tomorrow, that stuff’s gonna look like coke-flavored slurpee from 7-11. Glad I left space in the closet for my Muck boots. They’re keepers.