Warm

I like being warm. But only during certain times of the year. I like the kind of warm that keeps your toes from falling off, not the kind that gives blisters to redheaded zoo keepers in the summer. This morning I woke up when Jeff gave me a kiss before he left to go out of town and got up to set the alarm clock so that I wouldn't be late for church. That's when I realized that I live in an ice box. Usually Jeff is home and gets out of bed before me to turn the thermostat up. I rarely notice how cold it is anymore in the mornings because he hasn't had to go out of town for long enough that I'd forgotten that the carpet gets a sheen of ice on it during the night. So I shivered (almost going into convulsions) as I rushed to turn the furnace back on. Guess how "warm" it was? 59 DEGREES!!! Don't get me wrong, I'm all for that kind of cool down when the outside temperature is hitting 100. But when it's barely hovering in the teens I think I'm okay to complain, don't you?