True it is, though, and it condemns me socially to a grasshopper existence-bright and gay only in fair weather. In the heat of Arizona summers I can gussie up in skirts and other feminine frills. If the occasion demands, I can cut off my jeans below the pockets and tan my legs as other women do. But even in summer I must avoid drafts, damp clothes, and high-voltage cooling systems. My pants and boots.
Real winter sets in.
For worse than hurt vanity, embarrassed friends, and an outraged Mrs. Grundy is an aching head and the creeping upward curse of cold, cold feet. When I voided my teaching contract with the city by getting married, it was my good luck that the county school superintendent had a better opinion of conjugal status than her city counterpart. This is not said in bitterness, for he did me a favor by his decree. Having to be ready at dismissal bell, I dared to teach the three R's while dressed in boots, Levi's and shirts with plenty of pockets. A side effect was the exorcising of my demons of affliction.