We’re due to get our first frost this evening. You would think that after a lifetime of living in places far north, I would be used to this, but I am not. It is cold. I am cold. I have an electric blanket cranked up to high, a down comforter, a regular comforter and a quilt on my bed, and I am still not warm. I would add more blankets, but then the weight crushes me to the point I can’t roll over in bed and I wake up all panicked. After about August 30, I just accept that I will not be warm again until June.
Contrast this to Chung. The man grew up in the tropics, and has a better time in this weather that I do. He positively radiates heat. The man seems to believe in a sheet and, maybe, in the dead of January, a cursory effort at something that might be called a blanket. You see the problem here.
We have The Blanket Fight. This is one of our greatest hit arguments, those fights you have again and again, just because the two of you are irreconcilable.* I’m sure we could come to an agreement, except that Chung wakes my up halfway through the night to steal way my lovely burrito of blankets because it has just occurred to him that it is, in fact, very cold. You see the problem here. I retaliate by stuffing my freezing hands up his shirt to warm them. Sometimes he runs away. So I have to chase him down. Yes, I really am that mature.
*Greatest hits around here: “You are in America, stop spelling like the Queen;” “Chocolate Is Not A Breakfast Food, Meg;” and the perennial, “Stop Dogearing Library/My/My Friend’s/Our Books.”