What do you do when you wake up Friday morning, and Al Roker cuts to the local weatherman who tells you to expect windchills of -20?
Well, as I see it, you have 2 options.
1. Wear the biggest, warmest, most horrifically unfigureflattering coat you can summon up from the depths of your overflowing closet.
And layer and layer and layer.
Which, in this case, results in a pilgrim-esque ensemble worthy of a good ol’ Turkey dinner –
does it not?