It is no secret that I am fussy about temperature (and in general). I hate being cold. This is why I have a space heater at work, numerous sweaters, socks that look like disembodied muppet feet, and a throw blanket in every room.
But I also hate being hot.
I don’t mind shedding my many layers of clothes and wearing less. But there is a certain point at which you have so little cloth on your person that you may as well be completely nude and yet you are still sweating.
I spent the evening cowering in the cool basement with the dog, watching TV and willing the bedroom to be cool.
This morning I locked down the house like I was preparing for a zombie apocalypse, shutting every window and lowering every shade, hoping to keep the house at a reasonable temperature until the evening cool returns.
I guess this year