I am. Almost all of the time. There’s either too little heat or too much air conditioning. Our cars are stashed with extra jackets, sweaters, scarves, socks, hats…you name it. I have to be armed and ready.
Ask my family. When we sit down at a restaurant table, they know to check the silverware. Not to see if it’s clean but to see if it’s chilly to the touch. If it is, pity the poor person who seated us at that table. There will be a change….maybe more than one until The Cold One is as warm as possible. Requests to turn up the thermostat will be made. The position of overhead fans will be noted and avoided. Trips to the car will most likely be made to gather extra clothing. It’s not easy being them.
It’s been a particularly cold winter….as all of us here know. Naturally, this results in a war of thermostats in this old house. That which was built over 200 years ago and was intended as a summer house is, simply put, drafty. The mere word sends me into shivers and a world of complaints.
I don’t for one minute believe the thermostat. The other one who lives here tells me it’s new and trustworthy. But he’s not cold. I am.
I tell him that the air coming out of the vent feels like air conditioning. He says it’s heat. But he’s not cold. I am.
I suggest we crank things up a bit. He says when we go into auxiliary overdrive or something like that the electric bill goes sky high. I don’t care. See, he’s not cold. I am.
I walk around like Linus wrapped in a blanket. I scoop up a cat to sit in my lap. I find a spot of sun.
Start to warm up. Hmmm….feel so cozy and nice. Getting hungry. It takes a lot of energy to be cold all the time. Want comfort food. Ice cream. A bowlful. A big bowlful. Breyer’s French Vanilla. Yummm.
Rats. Now I’m cold. Again.