I am cold.
Yes, I live in Texas which typically has summer temperatures ten degrees higher than Hell (and Hell doesn't have the humidity). This week will see the first 100 degree temperature streak BEFORE the heat index.
Here I sit, at 10:22 p.m., on July 18, outside temp of 85 (feels like 91), AC set at whatever setting my hot-natured espouso determines necessary for survival, and sitting under a freaking ceiling fan. I should be comfortable, right? Wrong. I sit here in silent misery wearing a crocheted wrap over a 3/4 sleeve cardigan, sipping hot tea with honey (and just a smidge of Crown Maple). And, as soon as I finish this little rant, I will be putting finishing touches on my next crocheted sweater. For dinner, I made Lima Bean Soup (yum!). I keep extra blankies by my bed just in case the comforter doesn't cut it. They're small ones that cover just me, not the espouso. The dog is rather opposed to those as well this time of year.
I tell you, people, I am cold. I go outside to warm up and stay there until the humidity makes me sweat, then I go in. I can appreciate the AC for about 5 minutes after that, but then I'm done. Do not put any AC vent or fan directly on me or you will lose important body parts. (You would think mi espouso would have figured this out after 32 years. No. He hasn't.)
Now could someone please explain how I can be freezing my keister off in July, when I am perfectly comfortable the rest of the year when the temperatures run in the 70s and 80s? It's a good thing I don't live in Montana, or even the Texas panhandle, for that matter.
Rant over. Blankie calling.