It’s getting’ cold up here. I mean not to the point of thinking to yourself, “holy fuck, my eyeballs are going to freeze and then crackle like ice in a tumbler of whisky”, but it’s just around the corner. It’s that almost cute uncomfortable, where you laugh when you have to leave your incredibly warm bed because your balls have suddenly crawled up into your body and your nipples have hardened to frozen peas atop a cold, cold coin; not painful, not yet, but it certainly makes you nostalgic for that bed.
This late fall/early winter cold is sort of like a plate of cute little appetizer morsels filled with raspberry seeds that will get stuck in your teeth (but you can floss them out fairly easily) before the main course of poop pasta with broken glass.
Last night, as I was crawling between sheets that were refrigerator cold, I moved my foot over towards the outside wall. It was cold, really cold. I was instantly reminded of childhood overnight stays at my grandparent’s house.
When I slept over at my grandparent’s place I would sleep in the room that had once been my Uncle Jim’s. The bed lay right up against a large glass window, and if it was winter, and if you were a religious man, you would pray that you did not roll up against that window. I would climb into that cold bed and lay in one spot, perfectly still, until my body had managed to warm up a section of the sheets and blanket. I would then slowly venture out to other colder parts of the bed, always being able to retreat back to my center of warmth if things got too hairy.
I called this my foxhole. Not like a trench war foxhole, but like an underground den where foxes all nestled together and kept each other warm.
Despite the bitching that will probably come to a fever pitch by the end of December, I like being cold. I like being forced to wrap up and from time to time uncontrollably shivering. But it’s along the lines of being able to eat this fantastic dessert after the plate of gross and painful pasta. I like getting cold so that soon afterward I can get cozy with sweatshirts and sweaters and warm beverages and blankets and steamy kitchens…
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I always love the colder days of winter, and because my wife is a fully functioning heat machine, I survive the nights easily. (No not that way... well actually, yes that way too... but that is not what I am trying to convey here).
However, last night I felt your pain Bill. Well not ACTUALLY felt your pain (I will leave that to Biffers), but I understand where this post came from in your little-Billy-world. Shan decided to pass out on the couch--and knowing better than to try to wake a sleeping beauty, I was left to fend for myself in the sheets of ice (courtesy of a wide-open bedroom window).
The secret for staying warm in a frozen bed is wrapping both sides of the sheets and blankets around your body as tight as possible and moving around as quickly as possible in the smallest motions (oh, you ARE a dirty bunch aren't you?). I ended up doing a little laying-down-on-my-side running-in-place action which worked quite nicely. And as an added benefit, all that motion under the covers attracted all the cats. And cats are perfect mini heat machines.
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