I had the best birthday ever! My wonderful husband took me out for the day. He bought me a bunch of my favorite aromatherapy bubble baths and a new blouse. We went to see a play of Treasure Island. Pirates...Argh!...what fun!
It did turn off cold and reminded me that I haven't posted on the phenomina of being cold. I have always been hot natured. I could break into a beaded sweat mustache at 70 degrees. I used to have this dreadful little thought that when I die and people are trying to think of my attributes for the eulogy they would say, "Now that Sara...she could really sweat." My makeup would begin to melt off before I made it out of my bedroom. The back of my hair was often sopping wet. I used fans like an old southern grandmother (okay, just like my old southern grandmother taught me). I don't think I've gotten a good look at a priest or preacher for years--they were blurs between the swatting pages of my pew bulletins. I could continue on, but I think you have the picture.
Now I actually get cold. I mean really cold. Mind you, I live in south Alabama--how cold can it actually be? The words of My Sweet Mama (a tiny woman) come out of my mouth. "Goodness, I b'lieve I've caught a chill." "Wait, let me just grab a sweater." This one really amazes me, 'cause My Sweet Mama used to torture my sisters and me with her sweater thing. She used to bundle us up whenever she got cold--this did not suit my hefty sisters or me. [The worst was when she made us wear coats OVER our Halloween costumes!!! How cruel! I tried to make her understand that Halloween costumes worn over excited children are akin to thermal underwear--warm and toasty. She didn't buy it.]
This past summer my wonderful husband praised me for how cheap I was to cool. The poor man has spent so many nights bundled in comforters under arctic air conditioning. Meanwhile I was moaning, "Oh I'm so hot...aren't you hot?...it is soooo hot" while I huffed and threw bed clothes off of my side. I think he tried to respond, but his teeth were chattering and I wasn't clear on what he was saying.
Ah, but this winter has been different. My wonderful man says, "Do you think we need the gas logs on today?" Then he quickly says, "Never mind, you enjoy them." I know he is thinking of all of the times he has caught me with my beautiful blazing fire roaring under the motors of the air conditioner. [Yes, I've always been a dreadful high-maintance woman.] Now I sit huddled with layers on and my personal hot-water bottle in my lap--I am constantly robbing heat from my darling dappled Doxie, Stella Belle. Then, I got a great idea from my chameleon, James Bond. He has heating areas attached to walls within his gigantic lizard lounge. I've taken to keeping a heating pad in my favorite spot on the sofa.
Now, I'm gonna tell this next part, but don't even bother yelling at me for being a cruel teacher. I'm not perfect, but I am honest. I always got especially hot while teaching. As you can probably imagine I can be quite dramatic with speech, movement, and gestures. The kids may not learn everything they need to know, but they are entertained. My last name is Robinson and my classroom is Robinson's Island--complete with palm trees and fake tropical birds suspended from the ceiling. I began every year except this one explaining that I am the queen of the island--and that I get hot easy. "I'm old and fat. It is hard to cool me. You are young with good blood circulation. I advise you to keep a sweater here at school." Not this year. In fact, I have even used Beulah, our horrible-stinky-heater. She blows on and doesn't want to shut off. We just do that kid thing of pulling our shirts up over our noses and forge forth. I'm afraid I may become an adult version of what I call "Coat Kids." If you are not a teacher, you may not know about these creatures. Every class has at least one. From the precise moment that a Coat Kid obtains the new school year coat--possibly in September--they wear it ALWAYS. They are the little bundled critters peeping out of hoods or above zipped up collars. The teacher only sees their eyes and the tips of their fingers gripping the pencil. They constantly play and fiddle with their coat/security blankets. They often want to pull it over their heads and hunker into their seats like brightly colored boulders. It is February now and the coats are filthy and disgusting. My Darling Diauna may be clad in a precious, carefully assembled ensemble for all I know--what I see is the remains of a pink-fleeced carcass that surely died under the wheels of an 18-wheeler somewhere. Gracious, I have digressed, haven't I? But, I do wonder if my kids aren't just a little sick of seeing my wonderful new coat of the season--a red leather, Jones New York jacket!!
Tell the truth...haven't you noticed that after losing a significant amount of weight...you freeze your slim behind off?!