How to Warm a Corpse

 

How is it still not warm out there?  Seriously, it’s raining on the regular now, and I’m still bundling up indoors.

 

bundled up for cold inside

 

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:

 

If you put a blanket over a dead body, you don’t get a warmer corpse—you get a smelly blanket.

 

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.

 

"access denied" shirt

I tell you, I don’t think he loves me after all.

 

 

 

ME:  Pet the wife*
HIM:  (strokes shoulder)
ME:  Mmm, that’s warm.  Can I show you something?  (extends hand)
HIM:  No.
ME:  But I just…
HIM:  No.
ME:  Wanna show you…  (reaches)
HIM:  No.
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.

 

 

ME:  Snuggles!
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!

 

pizza slice cocoon blanket

If you love me, never tell him this thing exists.

 

 

* Yes, I really do this.  I told you, I’m a cat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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14 comments on “How to Warm a Corpse

  1. Victor K says:

    I’m forcing my wife to read this, on the basis that she can now know she’s not alone in the “husbands who wrap tightly in bed to ward off ice demons” club.

    Fun story – I used to drive a city bus and worked one night as a warming station for fire fighters who were, well, fighting a fire. It was below zero out and one woman got on the bus and complained that her hands were ice. I jokingly mentioned that I was warm; next thing you know I had a strange woman’s hands under my shirt. She wasn’t kidding, there was literal ice on those hands. It was one of my more bizarre professional driving experiences.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Lisa Orchard says:

    LOL! I do the same thing to my husband. We sometimes wrestle because he’s like a human furnace and I am not. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Tree says:

    I’m the same way. I’ve had partners in the past scream and run away from my cold feet. My husband now doesn’t seem to mind, though. And, oddly, he’s *always* the right temperature. On rare occasions I’m warm, he’s cool. When I’m cold, he’s warm. If that’s not fate, I don’t know what is. But I’m with you on the freezing thing. I’m always cold.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. JenS says:

    I attack my Husband with cold hands all the time, but he squirms away. Then he gets me later with his cold hands. We both have circulation issues.

    I find that a hot tea/hot chocolate with comfy blankets and fuzzy socks will warm me up. In desperate times a hot shower will help too. I am currently doing the first thing, but it’s making me sleepy.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Barb R says:

    Most of the time, my husband serves as my personal space heater, and I appreciate his sacrifice. Because my feet are like icicles, he no longer complains if I wear thick socks to bed- after 30 years he has learned. Bu he gets his own back every Thursday night in the winter. You see, my darling plays hockey. He plays hockey in an old, uninsulated, small town area that has NO HEATERS in it. This means when it hits -20 C, it gets damned cold in that arena. He’s warm enough where his pads are, but he comes home with serious Arena Belly. Arena Belly does not warm up in hot showers. Arena Belly only warms when pressed deliberately and firmly into the small of MY BACK. Insert squeals here. Not squeals of delight, I might add. At 1 am Arena Belly becomes grounds for divorce or justifiable homicide under the Criminal Code of Canada. Just sayin’

    Liked by 1 person

    • No jury would convict you. I’m assuming. I’m not actually familiar with the Canadian justice system, so for all I know, murdering a hockey player under any circumstances gets you beaten with a trout or something. But it seems unlikely, given the provocation, that’s my point.

      Like

  6. Barb R says:

    or sentenced to an endless loop of Nickelback…

    Like

  7. Arionis says:

    My wife and I have been together for 14 years. I’m still waiting on her feet to thaw out.

    Liked by 1 person

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