I need an undercoat

I know what you're thinking. You think the blonde roots have resurfaced. (They haven't, what you see is grey.) You think I mean I need an overcoat.

It is snowing. It isn't icy, it isn't slippery, I can handle snow. The wind today, however, will cut through you. Not a little jab. Not through to your bones but all-the-way-through your bones. This is butcher-knife wind.

As a mother and sometimes-responsible pet owner, I know the dog would enjoy a good 2-mile run. (Good for the dog and safer for my offspring, who will not be pounced upon immediately upon entering the house, IF I take her for a run). Said pet, a golden retriever, has an undercoat. While I can see the wind blowing her fur everywhichway, she is unfettered. She lies in the snow, rolls in the snow and eats the snow. A moment later, I am almost reduced to tears when I open the door to call her in. Not because I don't want her in the house but because I opened the door. I let the wind in. It hurt.

I have the fire going, am wearing my slippers on and hold yet another hot mug of coffee in my hands. I have to go pick up the older two children from school in half an hour, so they won't be standing out in the wind but I don't want to go out there. I need an undercoat.