Death by Hypothermia

Jeans, long sleeve shirt, hoodie, and ski socks are not enough to keep me warm this dreary day. I've burrowed under an afghan (the blanket, not a person from Afghanistan) a down comforter, a jersey blanket (blanket made out of same material as my comfy hoodie) and a no sew fleece blanket.

I swear I can see my breath when I exhale. I also think my eyes are at risk of freezing shut.

No, we have not moved to the Russian Tundra, Antarctica, or the North Pole. We are still living in the so called temperate climate of the Northwest.

I love cold weather. I really do. In fact, I'm encouraging the rain and cold. It means snow in the mountains. That means skiing.
I just don't think my house should be colder than outside.

Light the fire place you tell me; turn on the heat you tell me. A normal person would. Except, our fireplace is blocked by a TV stand and two monitors. To light a fire would probably ensure I burned down my apartment.

"Yeah, hi Honey, I'm just interrupting you at work to tell you I burned down our apartment complex."

That's going to go over so well.

As for being a normal person and turning on the heat?

Well...

I have a husband that left the house this morning dressed as if it was the middle of July. If he thinks 40 degrees is warm enough to wear shorts; he's going to think ice hanging from the ceiling is perfect weather to have a pool party.

The compromise has been setting the thermostat to 50. It was a compromise mostly because Chris left for the weekend and I wasn't going to freeze to death.

Chris might become a tad chilly, but is able to become warm with one blanket; unlike some, who needs every blanket and hand warmers.

It's alright. I get the last laugh in the summer, when its 90 and Chris claims to be melting.

All I have to do is not suffer hypothermia before then.