A few months ago I posted a blog about how there are certain things that should be discussed before a loving couple decides to tie the knot. There are obvious things (children, finances, family issues) and then there are the not-so-obvious things that, while maybe not a big deal at the time may, over the years, drive you certifiably insane night after night after night.
I swear, my husband is half-Eskimo. And, the man has been freezing my a** off for seven years now. He truly believes that any temperature above 60 degrees is downright tropical and certainly much too warm for bedtime. I, on the other hand, apparently have lousy extremity circulation so my nose, my fingers and my toes are in constant danger of turning blue and falling off. Nightly.
When we go to a hotel, he can’t wait to get into the room and turn the air conditioning to “full arctic blast”. And then we get back from whatever evening activity and it’s Siberia in there. And, I’m miserable and want to turn the heat on for Christ’s sake but he’s happy as clam. Or a polar bear. You pick.
(He almost always fall asleep first, though. And then, as you can imagine, I take matters into my own hands and quietly sneak over to the thermostat to crank that heat right up to where I’m comfortable again. This practice, by the way? He just loooooves it.)
Oh sure, he thinks the issue lies with me. That I’m the freakish one. That I’m James Arthur Ray and he’s my lodge prisoner.
Either way, we’ll likely be fighting this battle for many years to come. The up side is that at least I’m saving lots of money on skimpy lingerie. So, there.
Confessions of a Serial Swooper 
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