A New York moment

My ten-year-old, beat up leather jacket is like a blankie.  But I stole that simile from my husband, who once lost his beloved pea coat for a week due to an office mix-up.

One day during my first year in the city, when I lived on the East Side, I wore one of my old boiled wool coats to the grocery store.  An old woman came up to me in the store, as old Upper East Side women will do, and mused, "I have a coat like that.  I forgot I had it, though, because my coats got so squished together, like they get, you know, so I lost it."

At the time I didn't really know yet.  Being from Georgia, I didn't even have a proper winter coat. But as of this morning, eleven years later, I know.  I suddenly realized that I've been procrastinating about putting our coats back in the closet.  Why?  Because the closet is a typical 2' x 2' prewar apartment closet, and our coats are typical New Yorkers' coats:  snow coats, dress coats, rain coats for dress and sport in winter and spring, running jackets, spring fleece, and an extra light layer for June mornings.  Not to mention scarves, hats, and three ventilator umbrellas (the only kind that can withstand a Nor'easter). I've realized that there's no longer room for them all, and they're getting squished together, like the old woman's. 

Why does a "simple" family have so many coats?  Because as New Yorkers, we're outside (after a fashion) in four seasons worth of weather, almost daily, so we actually wear them all.  As some wise person said, "There is no bad weather, only wrong clothing."  But still, we're only three people.  I think it's time to cull!