Winter sucks.

Why do married couples tend to suffer from highly disparate body temperatures? It seems to be a common complaint; she's cold, he's ready to pass out from heat exhaustion. Things are no different for Clan Silfert. Take a ride in the car, for example.

"Hey, my ears just snapped off. Can we roll up the windows?"

"Why, are you cold?"

"Nah, I always turn blue like this. I just don't wanna mess up my hair."

The thermostat is another central issue in the War of the Warm-Blooded. In order to spare ourselves the monthly heart attack from Gas Bill Outrage, we keep the thermostat set to 68 degrees. Himself thinks this is just fine. I was apparently a lizard in a past life, because 68 degrees often feels like one step up from cryogenic storage.

"WHERE are all of my wool socks?!"

"Why, are you cold?"

"No, it's just that wearing five pairs of socks is the new thing, and I wanna be in on the trend."

It goes on like this. I'm married to a man who thinks nothing of going out in freezing weather with his shirt unbuttoned, while I'm contemplating drinking my coffee straight out of the pot.

"My God, I'm ready to set something on fire!"

"Why, are you cold?"

"Nah. I'm just sick of all this crummy old furniture."

Bedtime is the real kicker. Himself is content to sleep under a sheet in January, preferably with the windows open. I'm content to sleep under a sheet, a thermal blanket, a comforter, and a double-layer crocheted afghan. My side of the bed sags an extra three inches, thanks to the weight of the blankets.

"AUGH! Gimme the covers!"

"Why, are you cold?"

"No, I'm shaking like this because I accidentally spilled water on the electric blanket."

I don't think there will ever be a winner in the Cold Clash. There can only be compromise. Himself will continue to drive with the windows down, and I will content myself with spending lots of time and money at the yarn store. Scarves are in this year!