I Shall Have no Pie

When I was a kid my mom used to attach my mittens to my coat with those little alligator clips so that I wouldn't lose them. Of course I still would lose a mitten now and again because I would play with those snapping clips instead of using them to keep my mittens in place.

One thing I did when moving to Chicago was spare no expense when it came to my winter clothing. I intend to stay warm, and to hell with fashion and looking cool. So I have a big coat that Mark bought me, possibly from the women's department. It zippers on the wrong side. I have sweat shirts and hats, including one hat that my friend Dennis found to be quite funny. I don't care if I look like an albino Rastafarian, the hat is warm and I like it. I also popped for some warm gloves. They were not cheap, but they were highly rated for warmth. I hope they are, but they have not been truly tested yet. It hasn't dropped to Siberian like temperatures yet. I have been using them none the less when walking the dogs. That is until yesterday morning. That's when I reached up to the shelf in the hall closet and pulled down my Rasta hat and my gloves, except that only one glove was there. I looked on the floor, I searched inside the closet, and I looked all over the house. No glove. I immediately broke into one of my filthy rants, "Goddamnsonofabitchshitfuckshitfuckfuckityfuckfuckfuck." Yes, that is all one word. I took the dogs out, twice around the block, looking down the whole time for my missing glove. I was especially thorough when I got to Chandler's favorite pooping place. I definitely remembered taking my gloves off so that I could pick up his poo. No glove. Finally, resigned to the fact that I would have to buy a new pair, I put my coat away in the closet along with my hat and the one glove I still had.

I still think that glove is in the closet somewhere.