OCD and dressing for the Polar Vortex

Having OCD is an adventure.
Seriously.  You find awesomely creative ways to do normal activities so that you aren't the wierdo who washes her hands 29 times after touching her food or jumps on one foot down every tiled hallway to avoid stepping on cracks.  You're a freak when you do these things...even as an adult in an elementary school.  The kids look at you like you're Bigfoot.  It happens. :)
Having OCD and getting dressed is something totally different.  An adventure, but not a fun one.
I knew from a young age I was different.  And so did my mom.  Like most kindergarten-aged kids, my mom would help me get dressed every morning for school.  Unlike most kindergarten-aged kids, I screamed, I cried, I gnashed my teeth at the prospect of my mom putting socks on my feet.  They felt too scratchy on the inside, and I didn't like it.  The toe-line thing was never straight, and I didn't like that either.  Sometimes that little toe-line thing rubbed my toes funny, and that was a big no-no.  You get the idea...I was (and still am) a very particular sock wearer.  Some mornings my daily sock meltdown would send my mom into a tailspin.   She threatened, she pleaded, "Come on, Jode, just put on the dang socks!!!"  The only thing that could hold a candle to my bellowing protest was when the shrieks accidentally woke my loud-mouthed little sister.  Exasperated from two screaming children, my mom would holler for my dad to load me in the truck and take me to school, wonky socks and all (Lord knows I was never sent to school without socks-which would have been way easier-because that must be some unspoken rule of bad parenting...sending your kid to school with no socks).  I'm sure it was a super peaceful ride to work for my dad on those mornings.

Anyway, back to my current dilemma.  Having OCD and dressing for this wonderful Polar Vortex.

This morning I did my standard stagger-to-the-closet routine to pick out the warmest thing I had.  After five minutes or so, I finally settled on a pair of lined flannel trousers, a cami, a long sleeved denim shirt, and a sweater.  Layers.  I needed layers for the crazy cold.  Then the thought crossed my mind about my principal...its totally not weird to think about your principal while standing in your closet when you share a thermostat with him, and he has hot flashes worse than most menopausal women.  Totally normal.  I think?  With careful consideration of the thermostat problem, I decided my outfit would work.  Until I had to put it on.
The base layer (otherwise known as daily undergarments) was no problem.  It's an every day nuisance, but what girl doesn't need to give her "girls" a boost, a lift, a little extra oomph?!?  And the cami wasn't a problem either...I wear them all the time.  But problems began shortly thereafter.  I'm a regular denim/chambray shirt wearer...love them.  I have one that recently acquired a hole from regular usage.  They're usually a great soft fabric, but today's denim shirt was a new one.  I ripped the tags off, without much thought, and put it on.  For one thing, it has two more buttons than I'm accustomed to (yes, I count the buttons on my clothes...in fact I count lots of various things.  I like to count.  It's relaxing.)  That was annoying.  And there was one more problem.  It was a little stiff...like someone had starched it.  I would've accused sweet Matthew of starching it, if he would have ironed it this morning, since he starches everything he irons....even the t-shirts.  YIKES!!!  So, I attempted to ignore the stiffness that was my new shirt and pulled on my sweater.  By this point I was feeling a little bit constricted.  I essentially had on three layers at the moment (if you count the bra) and was attempting to pull on a fourth.  And everyone knows how you have to put on a sweater over a long-sleeved top, you have to hold the cuffs of said undershirt to prevent that weird-feeling sleeve-twist thing.  Well, the sweater was new too (and hadn't been tried on for size), and mid dress, I figured out it was a bit tight in the sleeves.  I grasped my undershirt cuff tighter and tried to press my hand out of the end of the arms.  But the denim under-shirt must have been itchy on the outside too because it wasn't passing through the arms of the sweater.  It was like my hands hit a brick wall somewhere around the wrist area.  I was stuck!!!  I'm pretty sure the little fit that followed looked like something you would have seen in an insane asylum when a patient was trying to bust out of a straight jacket.  I'm glad I was alone in the bathroom at this point because I'm fairly certain it would've scared Matthew and George to no end.  With lots of pushing, I finally saw my fingertips!  There was only one problem...my undershirt-cuff death grip had been released somewhere in the sweater sleeve.  And my undershirt sleeves were twisted up terribly.  Oh my gosh.  I immediately located them and pulled them to safety out of the sweater sleeve and attempted to right the arm seams of my sweater.  It was no easy feat, but I managed to set the shoulder seams and arm seams in the general area where they belong.  I finally had my tops on. 
Thank goodness the liner was sewn into my trousers.  They were easy.  Just slide on and button.
Then came the socks.  The dreaded socks.  It has to be freeze-your-tongue-to-a-light-pole cold before I wear socks.  Today it was THAT cold.  It was 12 degrees at last check.  This called for socks.  I sat on the floor and dug in my drawer for a suitable pair.  I counted 68 pairs of socks while trying to decide...I'm a counter, remember?  68 pairs of socks!! (And that wasn't including the dozen or so pairs of workout socks I wear regularly that were in the hamper to be washed.)  None of them would do.  I dug.  I tried on a few pairs.  They were too baggy in the ankle.  They were too squishy feeling.  They hit my leg at just the wrong spot and caused the liner of my trousers to feel funny.  Finally I settled on a pair.  From the 1990's.  Charlie Brown and Snoopy.  And they didn't match a single thing I was wearing.  But they felt good.  And they were vintage!!
I was almost done.  Only one more article to put on before I could leave the house.  A coat.  You have to wear a coat if you're wearing socks.  But the prospect of grasping TWO layers of sleeve cuffs to pull on a coat almost sent me over the edge.  I almost ripped off all my clothes and ran outside yelling, "Bring it, Polar Vortex!  I'm not scared of you!"  But I was worried what my new neighbors might think of me.  And I was a little worried about being arrested for indecent exposure.  Alas, I pulled the coat on without an anxiety attack.
I made it to work only five minutes late.  So here I sit, oscillating between freezing and sweating.  In my office.  With my itchy undershirt twisted and pressed so tightly against my arms I can hardly stand it.  Admiring Charlie Brown and Snoopy.  And hoping tomorrow is warmer so I don't have to dress in layers.