Between the volume of the TV and the adrenaline rush that is the Top 10 Plays, he won’t hear the heater kick in, nor will he notice he’s shirtless by the end of it. The second I hear the intro to ESPN’s “SportsCenter,” I make a mad dash for the thermostat. The key lies in identifying the right opportunity. And, we’ve been formulating clandestine plans of attack on the other’s favorite temperature the entire time.
We’ve lived in our current house almost three years now. Just increase or decrease the thermostat a couple of notches. We’ve since established an unspoken rule: Never go for your desired degrees. “So far” actually translating to so close to making the 10 o’clock news. Us grasshoppers quickly learned that approach will only get you so far. Me: Just remember, frigid is as frigid does. Him: Our house feels like Big Foot’s armpit. When that didn’t drive the point home, we’d turn to more subtle, yet creative tactics.
Me: (Watching TV while sporting earmuffs, mittens and a muffler in December) Why are you forcing me to live in (expletive) Antarctica?! Him: (Stripping down to boxers before the front door had shut behind him in July) It’s (expletive) Africa in here! How are you OK with this?! Of course we never waited for an answer, but at least it sounded awful courteous.īy the time we moved into a rental home a year later, it didn’t take long for that scenario to change into this one. Back then we would politely ask the other if it was “a tad warm” or “slightly chilly,” as we made our way to the thermostat. It hadn’t yet become the coveted almighty device it is today. We lived in a one-bedroom, 700-square-foot apartment and the thermostat was still just the thermostat. When we initiated the cohabitation, both of us foolishly practiced a little thing called honesty. It’s the evolution of the fight that keeps things interesting.
We have, after all, lived together 4½ years. It’s not a new fight, the temperature of our home. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what it’s called. Then and only then will you army crawl to the hallway while your husband brushes his teeth so you can undo his not-so-covert mission titled 65 Degrees of Misery. Then and only then do you plot covert missions titled 75 Degrees of Comfort. Then and only then does the hall thermostat become a weapon of mass dysfunction. That is, if you live with a man whose body temperature is vastly different from your own. It’s not love that’s a battlefield – it’s your house.
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