Hot And Cold

I am, by nature, a cold-blooded person. By this, I don’t mean to imply that I am ruthless or lacking in compassion, have no emotions or passions, or have an affinity for iguanas. I mean it in the almost literal sense that I am sensitive to cold temperatures.

Some would point out that thin-bloodedness is common in people as they get to a certain age, and I would point out the exact spot on my cold, chilly butt where you could … well, never mind that. I have been this way all my life, much preferring warmth to cool, heat to cold, summer to winter, and sunshine to shade.

I suspect this is due in large part to spending much of my impressionable youth in tropical climes, where shorts and flip-flops (shirts were optional) comprised most of my wardrobe. 

Now I live in a, shall we say, decidedly non-tropical climate and, if truth be told, I still have not completely acclimated myself to it, but then I’ve only been here for four decades. In fact, when we were contemplating moving here, I cast a resounding no vote, figuring that since it was snowing and it was April, that alone should preclude any reason to even have a vote. Alas, F voted in favor, and since she usually holds the tie-breaking vote, here we are.

It all worked out because I love where we live, plus I get to complain about the weather while pointing out that I didn’t originally choose to live here, although I am willing to admit that this puerile carping has probably grown a bit tedious for the wife after all these years. This could be why her response often is a suggestion for me to go someplace a lot warmer, and I don’t think she means Florida.

F is pretty much the opposite in terms of temperature. Her ideal ambient temperature is about 68 degrees, where I think anything below 75 is on the cool side. I do like a cool bedroom, but only so I can snuggle under layers of covers, while invariably she lies there with just a sheet. Sometimes I use her discarded covers to double up mine, but then when she decides she needs some of them in the middle of the night she accuses me of stealing them, as if covers just sitting unused and unwanted in the middle of the bed should just go to waste and aren’t free for the taking.

Even when we go to a warmer clime, such as the beach, she doesn’t want it too hot, like it could ever be too hot at the beach. She sits under an umbrella while I soak up the sun. She thinks you can fry an egg on the pavement when it’s 80 degrees, while I am wondering whether I should bring along a jacket just in case. We cannot agree on air conditioner settings. And speaking of which, thank goodness for dual air conditioning controls in cars. 

I also like my food hot, both with spice and heat, whereas she is okay with food that is more lukewarmish. I mean, just because the soup scalds your tongue or the spaghetti scorches your lips is no reason to just let it sit there and cool off when you’re hungry and ready to eat.

All this makes it sound like F and I don’t have a lot in common, but that’s not the case at all. Temperature is our major point of contention in our marriage, so if that is our biggest issue then I think we’re doing just fine. She’s my best friend and we have lots of fun together, plus she’s been my Valentine for 44 years now, so I think it’s safe to say that I’ll love her through thick and thin, sickness and health, good times and bad.

And, of course, the heat and the cold.