The wind hit my face like a wet-towel snapped on bare skin in a locker room. It was one of the coldest mornings of our abnormally warm winter and I dressed for Booker’s walk like an Antarctic explorer. Booker was patient, but looked at me strangely as I tried to move with any semblance of grace in my eighty-four layers of coats and scarves. Our walk was slower than usual because I could barely see the ground through the gator wrapped around my face. Beyond the sound of the wind there was a persistent scratchy noise as my snow pants rubbed together as thigh met thigh. Scritch, scritch, scritch. I was feeling plenty huge as I waddled along in the winter whiteness.
Arriving back at home I unleashed Booker. He continued to stare at me like I was some form of alien being until I asked him to be a bit more polite. Upon hearing my voice he offered up a little lick as if apologizing for his lack of manners. I needed to leave shortly to give blood, so I took a quick look in the mirror to brush my hat hair. To my horror I realized why Booker was reacting to me so strangely. The warm moist air from my breath had apparently bounced off my scarves and gator and back into my face. My mascara had essentially melted. I looked like Alice Cooper in concert. It was really, really, bad. After my initial shriek, I started laughing. It’s tough to be a girlie-girl in the cold of Minnesota, but it was the best part of my day.