11-18-00
One of my favorite things about living in a college town, beyond the obvious inherent benefits of a great Midwestern education, is the preponderance of Glamour Don'ts™ running around the streets of Iowa City on the average weekend evening. Walking home from work, I get to witness the fleshy herds of chubby co-eds migrating from bar to bar; huddled bovine masses of inappropriately-dressed sorority girls teetering along on their strappy platform sandals, feverently wishing they'd chosen more winter-appropriate garb than a tube top and hot pants.
It's not like most bars in the area that would require total hoochie-togs don't have some sort of coat check. I'm wearing a turtleneck, khakis, requisite hosiery and footwear, safely bundled up in a stocking cap, gloves, a coat and a down vest, and they're wearing little more than swimsuits in the chill wintery air. And I'm laughing my ass off.
I've heard rumors that something like 70 percent of the body's warmth is supposed to escape from the top of the head. I wonder what the scientists would have to say about the internal thermometer's crack at homeostasis vs. the tube top and hot pants combo most of these girls sport on a night out.
Don't get me wrong, I'm totally in on the 'less is more' wardrobing scheme in the middle of summer, but the average fratboy's beer goggles aren't thick enough to ignore gooseflesh and frostbite. At least, I hope they can't.
Not that these are super-waifs or anything, since most of the girls seem to have put on at least the freshman 15, or just their sleek winter coat of blubber, but DAMN, even being able to pinch an inch or three doesn't do much to keep out this bone-chilling kind of cold.
Fortunately it keeps me entertained.
And, my laughter keeps me warm.
