How is it still not warm out there? Seriously, it’s raining on the regular now, and I’m still bundling up indoors.
Here’s the problem: I’m cold-blooded. I mean, my father always said as much (though he usually added “just like your mother” while sloshing his drink around, so I never took it seriously) but I think there may be something to this, medically. I honestly don’t seem to generate my own body heat, a fact that continues to baffle friends. More than once, someone has offered me mittens or a blanket or something and I’ve had to explain to them my Corpse Theory of Warming Me Up:
I really do require an external heat source in order to warm myself. Which is why Husband reacts with genuine fear when I come at him with that certain look in my eye, hands extended at just about belly-height. I’m about to try to slip them under his shirt and warm them on his bare chest; he can allow this, and risk the sudden cold actually stopping his heart, or block my progress and force me to make do with the slightly-inferior abdominal heat.
ME: Pet the wife*
HIM: (strokes shoulder)
ME: Mmm, that’s warm. Can I show you something? (extends hand)
ME: But I just…
ME: Wanna show you… (reaches)
ME: Just this… (grabs arm with freezing cold hand)
HIM: No! That’s a Bad Touch!
Sometimes, I can talk him into letting me warm my hands when we’re snuggling in bed, but for some reason he’s decided to let my feet freeze and fall off. I don’t know, maybe to feed his stupid cat or something. She has no standards: I’ve had to stop her from eating lint more than once.
HIM: There. Like this?
ME: Yes, that’s nice.
HIM: Good. (kisses forehead)
ME: You know my favorite thing about snuggles?
HIM: Hmm? What’s that?
ME: When you… warm… my… Why are your feet all wrapped up???
HIM: (laughing) Because that’s how I sleep. To protect them!
ME: No fair!
* Yes, I really do this. I told you, I’m a cat.