For a while a long row of low 60s stared back at me, so I cheered when the first two days in our new city gained about ten degrees. I just keep telling myself, "It's like a Florida winter, Amy. You know, when you wear your boots and tights and sweaters and torture Chris by turning on the heat at night."
Chris is certified by the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission as an official human heater, so he has no need for external devices to keep him nice and toasty. He just comes that way naturally, which is why he hates Florida weather. It's a year-round double whammy of heat. I, on the other hand, happen to need something to generate heat for me, since I don't seem to do much of that myself.
As you might imagine, thermostat battles ensue. (As you might not imagine, they often involve rain sticks and ninja swords.) But maybe Chris will be so excited about not carrying around an extra shirt for when he sweats through the first one that he'll be feeling generous and won't mind a little heat at night.
...that's what she said. Or, the ever popular Hannah Variation: She said that. (love you, Hannah!)
Apparently I couldn't help myself. I know, real mature.