I’m sitting in a toilet cubicle at 59E59 theatre in the Upper West Side. I’ve been in here for the past fifteen minutes and I’m not leaving. Not because I ate that breakfast bean burrito but because I would rather die from antiseptic toilet fumes than face the wrath of Mother Nature outside.
You see, she’s in a bad mood. A real bad mood. A sixteen-below-zero kinda mood. I felt her wrath on the way over here – she pricked me through my jeans and blew icy taunts at my face, so much so that I had no choice but to escape indoors. To the one place where I could find warm refuge. To this toilet cubicle.
Which Winter Dresser are you?
- The North Facers: ‘To thy own self be true’ and boy is that the case for you! You sure know your truth and no amount of teasing will deter you from optimum warmth. You’re dressed in North Face apparel from head to toe and let’s face it, you look like you’ve accidentally walked off some Canadian hiking trail; did someone say Manitoba?! Your pants are inflated, your boots are impenetrable, and your ski gloves – thick and unbending like the illusive prosthetic hand from The Fugitive.
- The Practical Urban Dresser: This isn’t your first ice-bucket challenge so you are one prepared son of a gun! You’ve doubled up on socks, shirts, and pants and your extras such as your beanies, scarves and gloves are at the ready. You still understand that you’re not in fact in Manitoba and so, you find a way to make your winter dress work in an urban environment.
- The Fashionistas: No amount of cold could look as cool as you, girlfriend. Have you just walked off a Russian catwalk? No, you stop it! You’ve got fur for your headphones, tassels for your uggs, and the animal-cast of The Revenant on your shoulders. RSPC-ay?
- The Gym Junkies: Just because it’s winter, it doesn’t mean we can’t get those hearts pumping, am I right? You exercise no matter the weather and despite the fact that everything from you three-quarter skins down to your Nike sneakers is frost-bitten, you don’t care – a quick Soul Cycle sesh will bring those veins back to life!
The lady in the cubicle next to me doesn’t seem to be leaving either. She’s making concerning noises and speaking to herself in a language I can’t quite make out. Maybe Mama N got to her too. I want to reach under, take her by the hand and tell her that everything will be ok. But that would be a lie. For all I know, Mama N might just be getting started.
Had I been prepared, this wouldn’t have been so bad; I’d be out there with the rest of society, catching subways, eating matzoh, changing lives. And hey, I might even have met a man, married and had children. But instead, I will be trapped in here forever. Cold and brain-dead. Brain-dead and alone. And brain-dead.
But it’s my fault, I know.
And now, I will die in here.
All because I wore one pair of socks instead of two.