LaughLines: Baby, It’s Cold INSIDE…

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A few nights ago, I caught a late-night infomercial for a blanket made for couples that can’t agree on sleeping temperatures.

For the woman who likes a warm bedroom and the man who likes a cool room, this blanket actually has two temperature zones to accommodate the heat-lovers and the cold fish.

This blanket couldn’t handle our problem. I like a cool room, but Matt can’t sleep unless the thermostat is set very low – like, off. No kidding. It’s 12 degrees outside and 13 degrees in our bedroom, and that’s just the way Matt likes it. He’s sleeping like a baby, wearing nothing but a pair of Jockeys, and I’m beside him with two sweatshirts, fleece pajama pants and wool socks, and my fingers and toes are still going numb.

The dropping temps are bad enough, but Matt also likes to have a fan blowing on him. Every night he turns the fan on to get what he calls “circulating air” – and what I call a wind chill factor of minus 10.

Sometimes I build a windbreak, using pillows as a makeshift barrier to block the flow of cold air. Sometimes I brace myself behind Matt, but he just thinks I’m getting frisky and starts to respond in kind. Frisky? Jeez, honey, I’m not in the mood when I can’t feel my feet. Is frostbite a better excuse than a headache?

We’ve talked about finding a happy medium when it comes to temperatures, but Matt won’t change, and I don’t think he can. He has an internal combustion engine that’s always in overdrive. He’s always hot. The man sweats all the time no matter how cold it gets. Me? When I was pregnant I managed to out-heat him, but that was because I had twice the blood volume and was as big as a house. With that many pounds per square inch, I was a human radiator.

Hey, marriage is about compromise, right? Last night I decided to fight lack of fire with fur, and plunked our biggest dog, a 70-pound fur ball, right next to me, to keep me warm.

And what happened? She started to pant, then slobber, then drool. And wouldn’t you know, she got up and moved next to Matt and the fan. She couldn’t take the heat, either.

Read more of Cate Drew’s LaughLines.

About Cate Drew

I’m on the high side of 40, with three dogs, two teens and one husband, living in a small New England town in a house that’s never quiet. Ever. It’s not that I have a really colorful life – I just tend to write colorfully about it. And there’s plenty of material: marriage to the Man of a Thousand Bad Ideas,.. my mom, who moved Dad’s coffin closer to the street six months after he died so she could visit his grave as a kind of drive-up window…our dog posse…our kids…lots of siblings and in-laws, former co-workers, old boyfriends -- they’re all here. Toss in 14 years of Catholic school and you’ve got a lot of guilt, too. Which reminds me: forget “high side of 40.” I’m 51, damnit.

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