It's a Wrap

"Today's elf is tomorrow's gnome."
David Sedaris

A couple of years after my diagnosis, mindful that I'd be losing my manual dexterity, I happened upon some cashmere wraps at an outdoor market in Florence. Simple and unadorned, they were like small blankets cut to enfold a body. No sleeves, no buttons.

Perfect, I thought. I treated myself to an olive one, and my mom bought me a gray one as an early Christmas present. They've been my winter "coats" ever since. Warm and soft, it feels a little like staying in bed.

"Love the cape," people would say. There's no hood or closure, though, and the effect isn't nearly so elegant, especially now that I'm wizened and hunched. I look like a wheeled gnome or an unusually clean homeless person.

The other day, on a walk around the block, I remarked, "I could be masturbating under here and no one would know."

I wasn't, though. It was too cold, and dry cleaning's expensive.