Bring on the flannel ...

My best friend, who lives in a city also known for its bitter cold weather, was convinced I would find myself in plaid flannel and a pair of mud boots before the year was up. I am all for staying warm, but I have a firm belief that no matter how cold it gets, one musn't sacrifice all their values. And, I make no apology that dressing somewhat fasionably is one of mine. Emphasis on the "somewhat" these days. Now, I am not saying that plaid and / or flannel can't be stylish. (OK, well, plaid I am not sure about ... wink, wink ... nudge, nudge ... you know who you are and I am only teasing you.) I am simply saying that surely someone makes snow boots and fleece shirts with modern detailing and lines. I have seen some downright stunning down jackets in Europe and New York, so I know they exist. And a note on mud boots--with the right jeans and a white top, they can be ... dare I say ... sexy ... on a woman--in that "tanned, nature-girl, blueberry-picking, dirt-under-the-nails farm-stand-worker"sort of way. If I ever go wild mushroom hunting, I am getting me a pair.

But plaid flannel, especially red plaid flannel, is where I draw the line. I am not a lumberjack. I promptly told my friend while I was still in California something along the lines of "not just no, but hell no."

And I have held out quite well. Even when Aaron sneaked off and bought me a pair of the best flannel PJs from the Vermont Flannel Company in Woodstock, Vermont, I thanked him for the gesture, but promptly sent him back to return them. "But you will want these when it gets cold. I swear," he argued. Flannel, maybe .... fuschia, turqouise and white plaid flannel .... never. I was certain that anyone who slept in those would either suffocate themselves, have nightmares or wake up with a full-blown migraine. I suppose it didn't help that they day he bought them was the hottest day of summer and we didn't have air conditioning in the house. My son and I were covered in bug bites and the only fan we owned was the size of a coffee pot.

But a funny thing happened recently. It got cold. Really cold. At least to us, whose blood is still thin as water from almost four years back in California. And we were all just recovering from a stomach bug we got during our travels to and from North Carolina when Isaac came home with another "day care" cold. Aaron and I followed suit. So, on a chily Saturday morning, we woke up freezing and Aaron said, "Between the weather and the day care germ exchange, I have a feeling we are going to be really scr*wed this winter." It was the first time I was scared as I thought about the reality of what we were going to be facing. Suddenly snow angels and cross-country skiing didn't sound so romantic. So, I agreed that as a start we all should get a pair of PJs (or two) from Vermont Flannel Company--that very day.

I was hoping they might have a solid colored pair. No such luck. Closest they get to solid is what they call the court jester pants where one leg is green and the other is a coordinating green plaid. No comment necessary, right? And the women who worked there, while they were helpful enough, were some scary broads. While Aaron was looking through their shirt collection, they gave me a list of other things I might need like extra large boots so I could wear several pairs of socks or my feet would freeze off--and a mask for my face. Something else about windchill factor driving temperatures down to minus 50 degrees and frostbite. I was hugging Isaac tighter and tighter, shaking my head "no" and backing away from them very slowly as if they were that poor disturbed woman who approached us in Burlington. I thought about the scene in National Lampoon's Christmas when Audrey's eyeballs were frozen open when they went looking for a Christmas tree. Yup, those were some scary women at the Vermont Flannel Company.

Nevertheless, Aaron and Isaac easily found matching pairs in subtle blues, and there are few things in this world cuter than seeing him in those PJs. And I succumbed to what I thought was the least offensive of the selection. And as the cashier handed them to me, I had flashbacks of going to the doctor and being handed a dressing gown and a paper blanket because that is about as excited as I was about this purchase. This was no trip to Victoria's Secret.

Sidebar: This place actually makes flannel thongs. Now, if you don't find something inherently wrong with that, then ... well ... I just don't know.

It took me a while before I was ready to sit down with my dish of steaming crow and call my friend to tell her that not only did I buy flannel PJs, but they were in fact plaid and ... ahem ... red. She asked me when I was going to wear them, and I told the truth. "I am wearing them right now." Buttoned up to my chinny chin chin and feeling pretty darn cozy. Not only did I not make it 'til Christmas before caving, this was only October 2. She didn't say, "I told you so" because that is not the kind of friend she is ... maybe that's why I love her to pieces. (I still hate that she was right).

What the heck have we gotten ourselves into?