The layering I'm referencing is clothing. Here in the awful Midwest, I've learned the fine art of layering during our bitter Winters. Or at least I thought I had until during the holidays when I was properly schooled by my wife and mother-in-law.
"Your under-layers are too loose and make you look frumpy," said my wife.
Put on defensive, I shot back, "Do not!"
My mother-in-law agreed with a nod. "The under-layers need to fit snugly so they don't bulk things up."
Since I'm already somewhat bulky, I took this advice to heart. With an exception. "I dunno...I already feel like a tightly packed sausage in a casing. Making everything even tighter is gonna be suffocating." I looked to my father-in-law for help, but he'd kinda already written us off with an eye-roll.
"That's because you have too many layers," said my wife.
"Well, yeah, I can think of...let's see..." Never a math whiz, I brought out my trusty abacus: my fingers. "I've got... six layers."
"You don't have six layers," my wife scoffed.
"Yes, I do! I have muscle, fat, my skin--"
"Not layers!"
"Sure they are," I insisted. "Then there's my T-shirt--"
"Well, that's one you can get rid of."
"But...but...you're the one who told me in the first place I should wear a T-shirt year round!"
"That's a man thing," said my mother-in-law. "Every guy has to wear their T-shirt."
"Because my wife said I should!" I meant to sound defensive and strong, but with that argument, it admittedly came off about as confident as deciding between Horsey Sauce and Ketchup at Arbees.
"Yes, but you shouldn't sleep in it because it captures body sweat and causes problems with sleep," said my wife.
"That's not the point. The point is...was...um..." I got up for the longest coffee break in history. I knew I was outnumbered. Besides, I couldn't remember what the point of my argument was.
So, yeah, layers. I'm not a fan. But the older I get, the colder I get, and the more layers I add. This Winter, I've added turtlenecks (turtlenecks, for God's sake!) to my wardrobe of necessity. Right above the long underwear, perhaps the sexiest of all undergarments.
Except...not.
I mean, is it any wonder that sex is more popular in the warmer seasons than the dead of Winter? Not only do you have to disrobe about four layers of clothing and jump into bed before you freeze, but by the time you're both flashing your long underwear, any romantic notions kinda have taken a down-shift (if you know what I mean).
This has been a public service announcement.
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