Fashion statements, mortality, and brothers

Drumroll please.

I finally got myself THE COAT. A long winter coat, to wear with skirts and such. My last one lasted 20 years (I kid you not) and it was way overdue for retirement. The problem is, I absolutely LOATHE buying coats, which is why I put it off so long and was now at a point where I really really needed a new coat. No, I lie, I loathe buying the dressy type of coat, down jackets and such I have absolutely no problem with - I could buy one a month.

So I bought a coat. A green coat. I don't like it, I don't dislike it, it leaves me cold (no pun intended).

It was on sale, and there was no tax that day. A good point in its favour. It's long, the zipper opens from the bottom, it has a hood. Three more points in its favour. It is the clone of 300,000 other coats in Montreal, and it makes me feel like a frumpy middle aged lady, but hey, I am a middle aged lady, ain't I? (OK, OK, middle aged, I'm not a lady by any stretch of the imagination...)

It's very - to quote Marilla (I think that's her name) the lady who adoped Anne, in Anne of Green Gables - "serviceable". Damn, I hate that word, always have since I read the book. In my mind serviceable = UGLY. Though it isn't an ugly coat. It's just.... drab, boring, lacklustre. It makes me feel as old as I am, older. How pathetic is it that a coat can make me feel one way or another. It's just a coat, dammit! Get a grip Jazz.

Well there is a good side, this one will definitely not last 20 years. And lets face it, there's a definite peri-menopausal hormonal dip present in my assessment of the coat this morning - though I doubt I'll ever end up loving it.

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Further in the fashion file: I saw a woman today who had a black hat on. Nice hat actually, except that it had ears on it. Seriously. Kitten ears. Now this was not a six year old child. This was a 30 year old woman. Now, Jazz is not a fashionista (hell, you all know about the coat), but jesus murphy, a wool cap with kitten ears? When it's not halloween and you're not a six year old? There is no excuse. None. No, really, NONE. Lose the hat lady, if you're reading this!

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Mr. Jazz got a phone call from his aunt last night. His other aunt (the one in Michigan) is having triple bypass surgery this morning. She went for a routine checkup last week, had some tests done and they let her know that they were scheduling a bypass. And she had never felt iffy, always top notch.

Thank god she's in the States, had she been in Quebec, she probably would have had to wait until she actually had a heart attack.

Somehow, all of a sudden it seems important that I call my Dr. for that annual checkup I've been putting off for thee years....

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I gave my brother the URL to this blog. What was I thinking? He is now privy to all my deepest thoughts on green coats and kitty eared winter hats!

However, since he does now have this address, I will feel free to share some of the tortures that make me what I am today. Torture he is responsible for. Of course, I guess that's what big brothers are for, eh D? And that, obviously is the problem with being the youngest, there's no one you can torture in return. It's patenly unfair. But such is life.

Seriously though, he's a sweetheart he is my bro. He didn't torture me all that much. Honest!