I would like to take a few moments to discuss what I am assuming is an unspoken, but highly debated topic between married couples today. It is a conflict that, quite frankly, was not mentioned during our pre-marital counseling and as the seasons have changed, so has my understanding of this other human being that I live with. Now, I in no way, shape, or form regret the decision I made to marry my husband. I love and adore that man with all that I am. It is, however, my hope that other warm blooded, single individuals may learn from my naivete, so that they can prepare themselves for the all powerful and ever present angst of the wars that can rage within a home.
Truth be told, there were signs. All throughout our dating history. But of course at that time I did not see them for what they were. At that time the fact we were complete opposites in this realm was something I found endearing and (I shudder to think of it now) even "cute". But woe to the woman who is blinded all too long by loves hand. For her day will come. And when it does, she will find herself donning long johns and clinging to cupfuls of hot tea.
That's right folks. I am not talking about communication or finance arguments here. I am talking pure thermostat upheaval and what it is like living with a towering Yeti who apparently cannot survive in temperatures any higher than 50. I on the other hand, am a tropical bird-content to flit about in the heat and humidity of a well warmed, 75 degree home.
As you can imagine, abominable snowman would never survive a day in the rain forest any more than a Toucan would fair in the icy Antarctic. However, since our utility bill cannot afford to have the heat on with the windows open, this bird and her Yeti have resorted to a less sophisticated and often tumultuous strategy of attaining "optimum core body temperature".
There is no elaborate design to this dance. It mostly involves sneaking and turning things on. And off. And on again.
Take for example this afternoon. I walked in the door to temperatures mimicking that which I had just escaped outside and a husband who wasn't home. I can't be sure because I was mildly on the brink of hypothermia and hallucinations, but it appeared that many of our household appliances and foliage even had a thin layer of frost covering their surfaces. In order to save our plant's lives and my own, I quickly upped the thermostat to a balmy 80 degrees, threw on a pot of tea, and mummified myself in blankets.
But paradise does not last forever. I am not quite sure how he does it without me knowing. We have a one bedroom apt. with the kitchen, living room, and dining room all combined. If someone is clipping their toenails in the bathroom, you hear it while you are eating your dinner, this is how humble our abode is. And yet SOMEHOW, with a quick flick of the wrist, he always manages to kill my happiness and contentment with one turn of the dial. If we didn't go over our finances together each week I would invest in some sort of expensive alarm to catch him in his thieving ways. That and a large space heater.
Lately however, this temperature tango has escalated to new heights and has gotten flat out competitive. I know I am blessed to be married to a man with a sense of humor and most of the time he actually makes me laugh quite hard. But in situations dealing with such delicate issues such as this, there are certain things that I would not categorize under revelry or jovial banter.
Of of these new "games" consists of ambushing the down comforter off of the entire bed after I have just started to drift off to sleep and begin to think I will feel my limbs again. Every night I run from one cold room to another seeking sweet relief in the only sanctuary that always embraces me with warmth. And on occasions, those sacred moments of normalcy are met with cynical laughter and strong arm dangling the blanket over my icicle toes.
There are other tales I could tell of what it is like living in a large freezer involving things like ice cube attacks, restricted dryer using times, and fan wars.
But it is my fear that stories such as this would completely swear one of of entering into matrimony altogether. Which of course is not my intent at all. There are of many ways to prepare for these kinds of differences and to ensure for a blissful home-life together... such as registering for a fireplace instead of a cutting board.
And truly, if you end up lucky enough to marry your best friend, the thing that will make the arctic tundra temperatures wars so worth it is the fact that you have them there to cuddle up to on the couch at the end of the day. And that is one temperature adjusting tactic that neither of us ever seem to mind.
