It's cold this morning. Heck, this time of year, every morning is cold. I just wish someone would, or could, explain to me how it is that members of the female persuasion can handle the cold so well.
As I think back on the years, I recall seeing young girls going to school sans sweater or coat while the boys were bundled up, some in their varsity jackets. Now days, the girls are barely covered up and the boys wear loose sweat shirts called Hoodies. Some girls do too but not as often.
As they get older, it seems girls develop a greater cold tolerance and, I believe anyway, a fondness for it. Men? Huh, we want thermals for christmas.
Glenda sleeps with the window open. The bed is directly below so she can catch the cool night air. She is covered by just a sheet and a thin cover. Now, in the spring and summer, I am all for that. Fall and winter, however, are to be kept outside where they belong. Let them freeze the ground while inside we are toasty warm.
A few years ago, my daughter Shirley--God bless her--gave me an electric blanket, and man do I love that thing. I set that sucker on medium, roll up in it and, within a minute or two, I am snoring peacefully. As Glenda's dad would say, I am "in hog heaven."
Glenda has to have it cold or she overheats. I have been saying for years she is lacking some precious hormone that regulates the body's temperature. She tells me I am crazy. She stands at an open door and lets the freezing night breeze wash over her and I am crazy. And now Shirley is getting there as well. She's borderline menopausal so I understand it. Just the same, why do we men have to feel the cold with them?
Most mornings, Glenda gets up and goes right to work cleaning and doing the domestic things she enjoys doing. A half hour later, she is complaining she is hot. I tell her she is hot because she has been running around like a mad woman. Hell, I work up a sweat watching her work.
When we were first married, I would try helping her. All that did was frustrate her. When the kids were old enough and she had a job outside the house, the family would spend Saturday mornings cleaning the house. Glenda worked and supervised. Sometimes she would redo what the rest of us did. Now, I get out of her way and let her have at it. She usually sings and/or hums while she works, so I guess I am doing something right.
I'm easy. After my first cup of coffee, I hit the shower. The room is cold because, well, Glenda has to have the window open. No cold jokes if you please. When I disrobe, I am covered with goose bumps and can't wait to feel the hot water hit these old muscles.
Once the steam rises, in I go and man does that hot water feel good. The heat chases the shivers away and the water cascades down my body and warms me up so I don't ever want to get out. Once the shower is finished, I pull on a sweatshirt and jeans and I am all set.