I live down south, where we run the air conditioner nearly all year round.
I never need to wear more than a sweatshirt to keep warm.
I don’t own a wool coat, knitted hat or heavy boots. I enjoy fresh air and sunshine. My brother lives way up north, where it’s cold and wet most of the time. He constantly begs me to come visit him for the holidays. He insists that a white Christmas is ideal. I finally gave in and bought a plane ticket this past December. I packed a suitcase with my warmest clothes. As soon as we stepped outside the airport terminal, I knew I’d made a huge mistake. I immediately wanted to go back home. The temperature was twenty-eight degrees. While the snow was certainly beautiful, I didn’t appreciate my wet feet. I also kept slipping and sliding on the icy pavement and tugging a wheeled suitcase through the slush was difficult. We then sat in my brother’s freezing cold car for approximately ten minutes waiting for the heater to provide enough warmth to melt the ice on the windshield. My brother finally had to get out and chisel the ice away with a scraper. Despite the heater blasting at maximum capacity during the drive to his house, I shivered the whole time. I couldn’t wait to get inside. However, my brother likes to save money whenever possible. He’d turned his thermostat way down before heading to the airport. His house was so cold that I could see my breath. I kept my coat on and stood directly in front of a heater vent, trying to thaw out. I was thankful for the heated blanket on the bed. While my brother wanted to take me skiing, sledding and go for walks in the snow, I just wanted to hide inside and stay as close as possible to his furnace. Whenever he wasn’t paying attention, I raised the thermostat setting.