Lost and Found

Transplantation from Southwest desert to Midwest tundra requires a wardrobe overhaul. Pros include scarves (previously colorful yet unnecessary accessories), down coats (great at camouflaging post-Thanksgiving blubber), umbrellas (the true window into a city girl's soul) and gloves (the variety is simply staggering). Cons include lost scarves (it was in my coat sleeve when I got to the bar), lost coats (did I hang it up where I was trying on leather jackets in that cozy department store?), lost umbrellas (I lent it to that agent, and they lent it to someone else) and lost gloves (airport, snowdrift, restaurant, sidewalk, etc).

Dealing with the loss of a cold weather wardrobe essential is frustrating. Usually they cost a pretty penny. Even worse, you probably spent a long time looking for the right fit/color/style. Of all the aforementioned items, I definitely feel the worst about losing a glove. Bargain hunter by birth, I never spend a ton on clothing. It's not the money, though. It's the fact that when I lose that one glove, I have a lonely, presently useless glove to remind me of my carelessness. And it's always the really great gloves I lose. I should be thankful, because I've had the same set of gloves since I took up residency in the Windy City. They are ugly, brown, cheap pleather gloves from Target. They literally stink. But for the life of me, they just won't get gone. So I continue to wear them. Sure, I've had other gloves. One a silky set of apple green leather, cashmere-lined beauties from Marshall Field's. Lost the right glove in the snow the second time I wore them. There was also the set of extreme cold weather gloves I wore a total of three times. After a mad dash to the closest restroom upon exiting the airport parking lot, I realized lefty was gone with the wind. Back to the stinky brown pleather.

A few weeks ago, I steeled myself to brave the cold on my bike. Freezing rain is a deterrent, for sure, but I'm taking on the cold air. Marky and I trekked to Dick's Sporting Goods to gear up with under armor. Gore-Tex shoes, facemask, and the perfect gloves. I try to avoid big name brands, but these black Nike ACG gloves were perfect, at the perfect price. Grip on the palm and fingers to shift gears. Washable, waterproof, slim-fitting, and not too long for my sausage fingers. Bring it on, winter!

This morning, the sixth time wearing them, I, well, I, uh... Okay, I didn't just lose a glove. Even though the temperature was low, there was hardly any wind, and the sun was beating down. Halfway through my ride, against my better judgment, I neglected to snap my pockets shut when I removed the gloves and placed them there. My seat was giving me trouble, and I got off the bike at two different intersections to adjust it. I tried to clamp the seat down tighter than usual, and in my rush to take advantage of the green lights, I did a half-assed job. The clamp handle was sticking out, jabbing me in the right thigh every time I pedaled. I was distracted. They must have fallen during my readjustment tango.

It wasn't until my lunch hour that I realized the right glove was gone. Since I changed in the bathroom, dried my hair in the storage room, and applied makeup in the key department, I had quite a few steps to retrace. But it had been hours. I texted Marky, and his unfazed response was, "Oh bummer. That's my Breezy." I went downstairs to check with reception, and when I looked in the lunchroom with no luck, I decided it might be time to look online for a new pair. The only pairs I could find were girly pink and girly turquoise. I'm a badass biker. Pink clashes with camouflage. My pulse raced. I did another quick look around the office. Then decided to find that glove on the street. What's the worst that could happen? I could spend my whole lunch hour riding between work, home, and back.

I rolled up my jeans and grabbed SexyBike. Stairs. If I waited any longer, it would be too dark to see the glove. Broadway. Would I have to go all the way to Wilson, where I first took the gloves off? Halsted. I needed to be careful to keep one eye on the parked cars, and one eye on the opposite side of the road. Clark. People wouldn't just pick up an abandoned glove, would they? Melrose. There's the mini construction site I almost got sideswiped by a pedestrian. Roscoe. And there it was. Laying peacefully on the pavement. The embossed ACG insignia glimmering in the sun. Asking myself aloud, "Is that it?" I pulled over. My glove patiently waited for me all day. And I didn't even have to leave the neighborhood. Ah, Persistance.