My family is trying to kill me. For sure, the woman and the big boy are. The jury is still out on the little boy; he may not be part of their conspiracy. He might have his own game plan, in which I end up only bruised. I haven’t uncovered the full web of alliances yet.
We didn’t have a blazing hot summer, which may be the only reason I’m still alive. Otherwise, their plan to boil me in my own northern blood might have succeeded.
My wife and my eldest son get cold very easily. Mention November and they start shivering. They dress for a sleigh ride when we go to the grocery store. If I need a break from domestic life, I stand in the frozen foods aisle. Nobody can touch me there. It’s just me and the fish sticks in quiet contemplation.
I’m not a hot weather person. My sun screen bottle says SPF 5×1014. At 78˚F, I sweat from the head like Frosty the Snowman when he got locked in the greenhouse by that magician dude. The Washington Redskins could completely diffuse their whole name controversy if they would only replace their logo with one of me sitting by the pool.
Granddad had a way with women. Maybe it was the uniform.
I suspect that my younger son is more like me, but he is still too young and inarticulate to help me. I always get outnumbered, two to one, with the little boy holding his own counsel or voting in a foreign language.
My death by spontaneous combustion/melting will occur in one of two places. In the car, my wife is always surreptitiously turning off the A/C. She thinks I won’t notice the cabin temperature spike to 110. Rather than fight over the controls, I usually roll down my window. This will not necessarily make me comfortable, but it may keep me alive for up to three minutes. Three minutes is as long as the boy in the back can be expected to refrain from kicking a wounded man with “Daddy, can you roll up your window? I’m cold.”
The moment I look away, this dial will be turned all the way into the red.
Every return from a car trip is a victory, but then I’ve still got to make it through the night. One Christmas, I bought my wife a heated mattress cover. I thought it would ease her January chills. I never imagined she’d use it in July. She only turns on her half of the bed, but my side is still connected. I should be happy. It’s rare that someone shows that much appreciation for a gift. I’m sure she’ll mention in the eulogy that I was always a thoughtful gift-giver.
On the mattress pad controller, H stands for “He’s about to melt in his own bed.”
My only potential ally in this war of temperatures is the little boy. I think he finds it in his interests to save me. He likes to throw stuff. His velocity is good but his accuracy is suspect. To help his confidence, he needs a big target. Without me, he’d frustrate himself aiming for one of the smaller people moving around the house.
Snoozing on the Sofa 
Very Good!
Thank you!
That’s one of the good things about my wife, she’s not easily chilled like many women are. Feuds over temperature controls can be a real issue, so I’m glad we mostly don’t have that issue.
Next, you’ll tell me she loves to watch sports.
LOL – This sounds just like Mike and I. I’m always cold. Great post!
It’s a good thing you live way down there, then.
BTW: I think your curse on the Pittsburgh Pirates might have been broken. Just sayin’.
I love getting into a cold bed with cold sheets and a cold pillow. My wife is the opposite. By some unspoken agreement I now go to bed about 20 minutes before her to get the cold sheets thrill and turn on the elctric blanket on her side of the bed so when she gets in it is all horrible and warm.
You’re a real trooper. I hope your wife appreciates that you only get 20 minutes of real comfort.
I must admit, there are times when I enjoy a few minutes of heated bed, but here in the northern hemisphere, those times are much closer to January than to July.
If you can roll down a car window without your wife complaining that it’s messing up her hair, you’ve married a rare gem. I could show this post to my students who would easily take your side . . . and then once again yammer on about the humid conditions of my classroom 🙂
In my family, no one is allowed to complain about having their hair messed up. That would be like complaining to a legless man about how much your feet hurt.
My husband bought me my own little space heater that I can carry from place to place. I use it all year long. Sometimes when we’re sitting on the couch I make a little tent over it with a blanket so I can have a little pocket of delicious warmth!
Your husband didn’t buy you a cocoa machine and a donut maker for your tent? I think you’re letting him off too easy.
OMG I never even realized…you know what? You’re right. I’m definitely going to show him this!!