four-layer cold

Used to be I could tell how cold it was outside by how many flannels and T-shirts and thermal tops Pat wore under his jacket to work. He's slid into being more manager now than worker, but the thought still applies, especially today when I wore a T-shirt, long-sleeve shirt, fleece and jacket to walk the dog down the mountain. My armpits were the only warm parts. Funny how you can be freezing nearly all over, yet your deodorant is still put to the test.

On New Year's Eve in 2002, Pat and I layered up like Alpine ski instructors and walked the streets of Vienna, a short stop we made on a Prague, Vienna, Venice trip. We made jokes as we walked along the Danube, down to Burggarten and Heldenplatz. Putting on our best Austrian accents, we'd repeat "I'm freezn' my ballsnoffen" and other such nonsense as if the heat of our laughter would prevent us from frostbite. It was funny to us; it was also in the single digits. The two are most likely related. Later, we'd peel off the layers -- thermal underwear, wool socks, shirts, shirts and more shirts, coats, hats and gloves -- and try to get warm in our hotel room.

It makes packing light and dressing as a sexy European extremely difficult.