Sandwiched
My husband John and I get along very well. We typically present a united front when it comes to parenting our teenage sons, we have the same important values in life, and we even have similar tastes in music. We both love to help people in our own ways and we share a rather unusual sense of humor.
However, like many couples, we do have our “hot button” topics – in fact, in one instance, this phrase is quite literal. We RARELY, if ever, can agree on the ideal temperature.
When I met John, I thought it was kind of cute the way he liked to crack the window open during the winter when he slept in his apartment. Studies show it’s good to sleep in a cooler environment, right? What I didn’t realize is that John likes it cooler/colder ALL THE TIME. In fact, as I write this column, he’s counting down to winter.
They said in the late 90s that men are from Mars and women are from Venus. This must be true in our case, because Mars is cold and Venus is hot.
During the summer, I like to work at home with the windows open until about noon, then I typically set the air conditioning to 76. About an hour before John comes home, I have to turn it down to 72 to avoid him coming through the back door and exclaiming, “AGH! What’s the temperature in here? It’s like the surface of the sun!” And you don’t even want to know what he likes the thermostat set to in the colder months.
One of the greatest inventions of all time to help preserve a marriage is a vehicle’s dual temperature control. We have this superb option in John’s Ford Fusion Hybrid. On our car trips, I can set my side to 73 and John can set his to 65. If only this option were available in a house.
On any given evening when we’re home together, John will be barefoot in shorts and a t-shirt, while I’ll have on pajamas, a robe or sweatshirt, socks and slippers. Of course I’m also covered up with a blanket.
One place we both agree is NEVER the ideal temperature, however, is my mother’s apartment. Like many elderly people, Mom likes to keep things, um, toasty. Like, 80+ degrees in the middle of summer. I’ve learned to dress in layers if I’m spending any length of time in her apartment, especially since I’m approaching that “fun” stage of life called menopause.
I remember stopping by her place after running errands one hot afternoon last summer and unloading some groceries for her. It was 84 degrees that day… in her apartment. Even in shorts and a tank top, it soon became unbearable for me. I finally had to kiss her goodbye, run out the door, zoom home, throw all my packages on our kitchen island, and tear off every bit of clothing and stand in front of a fan in our bedroom for 20 minutes. I looked like some wild, red-faced maniac from a movie.
John and I often joke that we’ll have to move into a duplex after the kids are out of the house, since as a couple I don’t think we’ll ever find the Goldilocks of temperatures. The kids can visit John on one side if they’re feeling warm, then come see me on the other side to thaw out once they start to get cold.
And they can always visit their grandmother if they’d like a more tropical experience.