It's about 60 degrees here. Today as I dropped off my little children at the Elementary School, there was a little boy in the drop-off lane wearing shorts. Granted, he had on a sweatshirt and his mother looked like she was possibly smoking crack while driving, but still. It's not cold.
Ask Jason however and you would be lead to believe that we are living in some form of the artic. Polar bears are likely wandering through our yard! This morning I was sitting on the bed having a nice conversation with him while he brushed his teeth and realized I was sweating.
"Good Lord!" said I. "It must be 80 degrees in here!"
"Nu-uh!" he said, possibly a touch defensively. "It's only seventy-five."
Because that's a lot better, I guess.
Every day of our life goes something like this:
- Jason comes home from work.
- Jason immediately sheds all work clothes other than plain white undershirt, boxer shorts, and socks (which are black. Because he's bringing sexy back.)
- After asking what we are having for dinner, to which I will probably reply, "Chicken", Jason says some version of, "Oh my God! It's freezing in here!"
- I say some version of, "Actually, no. It's not freezing in here. It's 69 degrees."
- Jason makes some comment about my use of the word "sixty-nine". Because we're both really fourteen year old boys and think such things are funny.
- Jason turns up the heat.
- Jason goes to the bathroom.
- I turn down the heat.
- Several hours later, Jason realizes he's "cold" again and turns the heat back up.
- I say some version of, "Put some clothes on and you won't be so cold."
- Lather, rinse, repeat.
I swear, sometimes I think he is a really muscular, hairy woman.