Falling in glove

I take far too much pride in the number of gloves I've lost over the past four winters: One (which was a total fluke and not my fault, by the way). If winter runs from Dec 21-March 21, that's about 90 days during which I could lose one. With a record of 90-1, I'm the f'n Mariano Rivera of winter glove saves.

Even if you don't live in wintry weather, I'm sure you can imagine how frequently one misplaces a glove while fumbling for phones, keys, money, handguns. Walk through the city tomorrow and you're bound to come across more lost gloves than Starbucks.

Maybe you've never thought about or noticed them before but when one can boast such a fantastic record as mine, it's hard NOT to see them. In fact, I can't stop taking pictures of The Lost Ones. Most are photos of gloves lost in ridiculous places (on the train tracks? both gloves? both palms down? how?)...

How did this happen? Was the owner of this pair Ming the Merciless who, after being skewered by Flash Gordon, fell and melted into the train tracks near my house in Brooklyn?


Just your standard "lost black glove" shots. Apparently, black gloves are the Honda Civics of winter wear.

...while others are of gloves placed by kind souls in spots where hapless owners may return to find them (seriously, though - what's the likelihood of this ever working as planned?).

After snapping the photo on the right, I was tempted to stick the middle finger up on this glove since it was slightly wet and temps were below 30.

What, you may be demanding to know, is my secret? It's elementary (really): Glove clips, or as I like to call them, "glove garter belts."


Silly blogger, glove clips are for kids!

Yep, the very same thing that parents use to keep mittens from wandering off the jackets of small children is what I've used since 2005 to secure my own. Based on crude observations of lost gloves, I'm guessing that most parents are hypocrites.

It reminds me of that nursery rhyme:
Three little kittens,
They lost their mittens,
And they began to cry,
"Oh, mother dear,
We sadly fear
Our mittens we have lost."
"What! Lost your mittens,
You naughty kittens!
Then you shall have no pie.
Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow.
You shall have no pie."

What a crock of shit. My money's on "mother dear" losing HER mittens the next day while rushing to catch the B train.


What really happened: "Mom, you lost YOUR mittens? WTF?!" "Yeah, you're always yelling at us for losing ours but you're just as naughty!" "Since we found OUR mittens, we'll be eating YOUR pie! Mee-ow!"

In the time since adopting Jr's accessory, I've gotten a lot of curious looks, laughs and praise to which I say, "Why should kids be the only ones to keep their gloves?" The response is usually, "That's so true!" but I doubt I've actually changed anyone's mind. I've yet to see someone my age with glove clips on their winter coat.

It's not that gloves are expensive (at least mine aren't); it's more about how difficult mine are to replace. If I was willing to admit the absurd amount of time I spend picking out a matching scarf/gloves/hat combo for each winter, you could appreciate why I decided to add a "glove insurance policy" in the first place.

I'm such a fan of them that last Christmas, I included glove clips as stocking stuffers for adults in my family. Unfortunately, my gift wasn't exactly received with the same appreciation I'd hoped for. Some looked confused, others insulted. What can I say? I had good intentions (and the clips were from the $1 rack at Target).

I expected the same reaction from my Man, after I gave him two sets of glove clips for his winter coat and leather jacket. After all, this a man who would pretend he didn't trip over a coconut even if it was just him and the palm tree on a deserted island. But after losing a second pair of gloves just one month into winter, my Man quickly strapped the clips on (black ones, of course).

Sure, it can be annoying to have your gloves constantly dangling around your wrists, but there's comfort in at least knowing they're still there. And yes, you may look like you're waiting for the short bus instead of the M104, but at least BOTH of your hands are still warm.

For those who are too cool for glove clips, it's okay, really -- I totally enjoy taking photos of your lost gloves.

p.s. Just realized that by writing this blog, I've now jinxed my record and invited the universe to take one of my gloves before winter ends. The good news is that my paranoia also means I've already taken precautions against such a fate: when picking out each winter's scarf/glove/hat combo, I always buy two pairs of the same glove. It's like I'm Mariano Rivera with Joba Chamberlain (or John Wetteland circa 1996) warming up in the bullpen. So, WHATEVER, universe!

Note: Gloves aren't the only winter accessory people lose. I snapped the shot below while waiting for the train earlier today. I would be so f'd if this happened to me (no scarf clips, no back-up scarf)!

I lost my pants in the Grand Canyon

Okay, so today was a very emotional day for me. Since returning from a 4-day trip to the Grand Canyon nearly 2 weeks ago, a little voice (one of the many in my head) had been quietly nagging me to check the whereabouts of my favorite pair of pants. Today, I finally listened to that voice (who by now was smugly humming A Tribe Called Quest's "I left my wallet in El Segundo").

Everyone has a favorite something or other in the closet -- shoes, jeans, t-shirt, Honduran boy, etc. Me? I had a favorite pair of camouflage pants. I say "had" because they're gone.

The last time I wore them was on the flight to Vegas, where I met my Dad. After getting the Shelby GT-H Mustang, we made like Elvis and promptly left the building for the Canyon. The last time I saw them was in the cabin we rented; they were in my luggage, awaiting their next tour of duty.


I've heard of traveling pants but... The last photo of my favorite camouflage pants was taken somewhere on the border of Nevada and Utah. At least they went out with a 350-horsepower bang.

The horrible realization that they'd disappeared first began to dawn last Thursday when I couldn't find the black belt I usually wear with them. Luckily, I tend to buy things I like in two's so I had a back-up belt waiting (grrrr, if only I'd done the same years ago when I bought those pants at Macy's!).

It wasn't until today that I fully realized my all-time favorite pants are no longer with me. I checked my luggage again, I texted my cousin in Vegas, I called the two hotels where we had stayed, I even called my Dad to see if he accidentally packed them (they are, after all, camouflage and could easily blend in with other clothing). Nothing. The pain in my heart was as though I'd lost a friendship.

Oh, you think I exaggerate. Seriously, I've had easier breakups than what I felt today. Not only did they make my ass look great (camouflage is a wonderful thing), their soft fabric was versatile -- light enough to wear in the God-awful humidity of South Florida and scorching heat of Nevada while heavy enough to wear on a cool fall night in NYC. Ugh! The more I think about them, the harder this is to accept.

After searching the Internet high and low for a replacement pair (I found a distant cousin of my pants on eBay and am now the highest bidder but it's no consolation), I lamented the loss while on the phone with Paula, my friend in Miami whose shoulder is harder to cry on than a desert cactus'.

"Damn, Jenn. You really are white trash. You lost your pants while on vacation with your Dad? What the hell?"
"When in Rome, bitch."
"No, seriously, how exactly did you lose your pants? You saw the Grand Canyon and said, 'if you think THAT's a gaping hole, check THIS out!'"

I expect other friends will offer the same sort of comforting, especially Jeremy who banned camouflage anything about six months ago. I can still hear him now, "Camouflage is never in season. Period."

I think the hardest part is imagining my pants in some pile of trash somewhere (no doubt, Jeremy would approve), carelessly tossed in with the hotel's garbage or perhaps already baking in an Arizona landfill. I guess the happiest fate I could wish my pants is that they're at home in some poor hotel worker's closet. I can only hope that whoever found them doesn't share Jeremy's opinion.

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