The constant struggle to match your spouse's body temperature

 

It's so cliche I hesitate even to bring it up, but Terry and I almost never experience feeling hot or cold at the same time.

We'll be crawling into bed at night, and I'll be thinking to myself, "I don't even want to get under the covers, it's so hot." Then I look over and she is buried beneath a pile of blankets with only the top of her head sticking out.

She will ask how I'm not freezing to death. I will ask how she's not soaking the sheets in sweat.

And on and on.

I don't travel for business nearly as much as I used to, but when I do, the first order of business upon entering my hotel room is turning down the thermostat.

I mean really turning it down. Usually as low as it will go. Mid-60-degree territory.

Then I enjoy a blissful, uninterrupted 7 to 8 hours of sleep. I do this knowing the fun will end the second I return home.

Not that Terry likes it boiling hot or anything, but she definitely prefers the house to be a few degrees warmer than I. And I'm fine with that. You get used to it, and there are plenty of things over which she compromises her own likes and dislikes in deference to me.

Which is what you do in a marriage. You give and take. You cede a little ground here in the hopes your partner will do likewise over there. You put their needs above your own.

In the end, it all evens out.

Not that it doesn't carry some degree of risk. I, for instance, will inevitably suffer heat stroke one of these days in my own sweltering bedroom.

But at least, as I lose consciousness, I'll be able to look to my right and see the pile of comforters that stole my heart nearly 40 years ago, sleeping peacefully.

Why do I feel guilty touching the thermostat?

It may be difficult to comprehend as you read this post in July, but I'm writing it in late May whilst sitting in my house and freezing.

The outside temperature is something like 57 degrees. Inside it's 66. I'm wearing a long-sleeve shirt and jeans, but I'm still awfully cold. My hands and feet are numb, and I'm pretty certain my nose will soon turn black and fall off and I won't even notice.

One potential solution to this problem, I realize, is to turn up the heat. But that would entail messing with the thermostat, and I never do that.

Why? At least two reasons:

(1) Turning on the heat means the gas bill will go up, AND WE MUST NEVER INCREASE THE GAS BILL.

(2) Terry has a system for determining what the temperature should be in the house, and as near as I can tell, that system is called the Whatever-Temperature-Will-Feel-Uncomfortable-to-Scott System.

Since it is July and all, I should mention this also extends to when we turn on the air conditioning.

As she is the person who handles our finances, I understand that Terry is sensitive to the way in which operating our home heating and cooling system will impact us monetarily. But I can't tell you the number of times the rest of us have been dripping with sweat and my wife has advised us to just open a window. "Please," we beg, "can we turn on the air conditioning? Even for just an hour or two?" But this will only happen when Mrs. Heat Miser decides it's time, which may be never.

The result is that when I do venture over to the thermostat in the hope of making it more bearable in our house, I do so only when Terry isn't home, and I do it with a sense of guilt I can't shake. Yes, technically I earn the money that heats and cools the house, but I have no more control over how the system actually works than any of our pets do.

So you know what? I'm going to go turn the heat on. It's my house and I'll turn the heat on when I darn well please. Hold on a second...

<I'M WALKING OVER TO ADJUST THE THERMOSTAT. PLEASE AMUSE YOURSELF FOR A FEW SECONDS UNTIL I GET BACK.>

There. In 15 minutes or so, it's going to be nice and toasty in here and I'll be happy. I am master of my domain.

The fact that Terry isn't home (this is true) has nothing to do with it. Nor does the fact that I'll almost surely turn the thermostat back down to where it was the minute I hear her car pull into the driveway (also true).