It was four freakin' degrees when I woke up this morning. You can imagine what it was like standing on that train platform. Or maybe you can't, I have no idea how vivid your imagination is. Oh, and thank God for small favors: the train was actually pretty much on time today. A minute or two either way is cool.
I wear a leather bomber jacket in the fall, winter, and spring. Cut the wind, and you've done 80 percent of the work keeping warm. And as any motorcycle rider knows, leather does that in spades. The coat cost me a pretty penny, but I hang on to clothes for a good long while. I'm still wearing shirts that are fifteen years old.
And jeans that are over twenty.
There's a Korean woman in my neighborhood who patches them for me. They have the look of jeans that cost hundreds at the mall. But they're the real deal.
So I figured since I'll either be buried in that jacket or it will be bequeathed to either one of my kids or Sue for continued service on the planet, that leather jacket actually will end up costing me something like 50 cents a year over its lifetime. Still, when I bought it, I was shocked when I was charged tax for it. (In Massachusetts, clothes are normally purchased tax-free.) It was a luxury tax, it was explained to me.
Imagine that. Only in Taxachusetts is something that keeps you warm during it's four degree winters considered a luxury.
It was the first luxury item I've ever bought, too. Probably will be the last. Luxurious is not a word that typically describes my lifestyle.
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