I need to know something.
WHY IS IT, that all winter long, I keep saying things like, “@*^&@ it, that’s IT, I’m turning the thermostat up to 78!”
And I wanna do it.
I wanna do it bad.
I’ll dawdle past my thermostat and glare at that 68 setting with sheerest loathing. Because I want to nudge it up a full ten degrees. Because I’m freezing, FREEZING I TELL YOU!
78 degrees sounds like heaven. 78 degrees is what I want, more than anything else in this world. My kingdom for a 78 degree domicile!!
Well, guess what temperature it is in the Den right now? And guess how I feel about it?
Yes, that’s right!
“Hot…so hot…it’s hot in here…is it just me, or is it hot in here? Why is it so hot in here? Seriously, I’m boiling. That’s it. I’m putting on the air conditioner!”
And now I’m cruising past the thermostat glaring at the 78 degrees it is proudly displaying with my fingers itching to turn it on and bring it down to a more sensible 70-ish.
Inquiring minds really want to know: Is it possible for me to be happy with the temperature of a place? I’m always that person who is whipping out a sweater when everybody else is exclaiming about how warm they are, or running around fanning herself in a bikini just as everyone around her is comparing the relative merits of fleece v. wool.
For Pete’s sake, what would it take – I ASK, WHAT WOULD IT TAKE – for me to be content with the ambient temperature?!
The world may never know.
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