Canadian Winters are NOT for Fashionistas

With another winter upon us, once again my wardrobe choices play tug-of-war between the desire to be stylish and the more important requirement to be warm and comfortable.  I wrote this story for Chicken Soup and it was published a year ago in "Chicken Soup - Oh Canada"..  Let me know if you enjoy reading it - I am looking for inspiriation for new short stories .... ideas welcome also!

 

Canadian Winters are NOT for Fashionistas

At 20-something, I was ever so fashionable and cute.  I donned a meticulously selected outfit, hat, footwear and accessories for every event.  The effect of the look was the priority, not its comfort or practicality, which was all too obvious one winter night in Ontario’s Cottage Country.

I jumped in my little red sports car, heading North for New Year’s Eve at my Family’s cottage in Halliburton.  Only a sprinkling of snow dusted the ground in Toronto as I began my two hour journey north.  The traffic was clear and the roads dry, until I turned onto the cottage road from the highway, just 30 minutes south of Algonquin Park.

Without snow tires, I felt the car veering closer to the deep ditch of the single lane road, with no guardrails to protect my fall.  My carefully applied make-up began dripping down my face as the sweat showed my fear.  I dropped into low gear, pumped the break and prayed.  Like a puppy walking on ice, I made it to the bottom of the road and arrived at the lakefront cottage.

I took a deep breath, and accessed the situation.  I was fine, and the car was in one piece.  One look in the rear-view mirror and I saw my make-up was the only casualty.  Some powder and lipstick did the trick.  I jumped out of my car, feeling stylish in my short, leather boots with 3 inch heels, tight blue jeans, a leather blazer and sleek blond ‘do’ peeking from under a fashion hat.  I was too cool for a scarf or gloves.

With my first step out of the car I knew I was in trouble.  My boots sunk through a foot of snow and had absolutely no traction to get me up the icy stairs to the deck where I could make my entrance.  I held my arms out for balance, took tiny steps, cursed a few times and made it up and to the front of the deck.  Family and friends were skating on the lake and chatting on the front deck.  It was hard to tell who was who since their entire bodies were covered in winter wear that was clearly not going to be seen on the pages of a fashion magazine.

“I’m here”, I announced as I struck a pose to show off my coolness.  “Hey there”, “You made it” and a variety of welcomes rang out.  One voice could be heard above others – my older Brother as he took in my ‘look’ and let out a whoop of laughter saying, “Good luck with that,” nodding to my attire.  With stubbornness that only a baby sister can muster up, I stuck up my chin and said, “I’m tough, besides, you won’t catch me in an outfit like yours.”  I grabbed my first beer and headed off to join the others.

In less than 10 minutes it became very clear that the boots had to go.  The wet snow had seeped through and I was losing feeling in my toes.  I went inside the cottage and borrowed a pair of skidoo boots, lined with ¾ inch felt that almost reached my knees, with enough tread to scale an iceberg.  Off I went again.  Another 15 minutes passed and my fingers began turning red with little white blotches.  Back in the cottage for lined mitts from fingertip to elbow.  Time to grab another beer – that’ll warm me up.

A little more time passes, as my ears begin to sting.  Off I go again, but this time, I notice the snickers from onlookers.  My sister guides me by my arm back into the cottage.  As the baby who is more than a decade younger than her three siblings, latitude was often provided to learn from my own mistakes but one sister decided, ‘enough was enough’.  Out came the balaclava (over the head, face covering knit hat), and a full ski suit from neck to ankles.  I stepped back out on the deck, greeted with cheers from the group for my warm attire.  I heaved a sigh for my lost coolness, left it behind, while my hair got crushed and my make-up rubbed off on the inside of the balaclava.   I rang in the New Year taking active pleasure in the fun - with warm limbs, no surface skin exposed and fully functioning digits. 

~ Sheri Gammon Dewling ~