The husband has always called me "Abnormally Cold Woman." (There's even a song to it.) Put me in any restaurant around the world and I'll ask, when we sit down, "Do you feel cold?" I layer in movie theaters, I truly believe there's a conspiracy in my church against women because I'm always close to hypothermia, I always bring a sweatshirt to the beach and don't even get my started on airplanes. You would think growing up in Pennsylvania, serving a mission in Mongolia and living in Utah would make me less sensitive to the cold, but unfortunately, that's not the case.
So three and a half years ago, I got married and moved to sunny southern California. I figured my days of goose bumps and layering were over. Silly me. Since I moved here I can recall three weeks where I have been legitimately warm due to the weather outside. Three weeks. The rest of the days? Well, I know there are those of you who will scoff at what I'm about to say, but it's cold here. Today, I went for a run with the husband, and it was 64 degrees. No, we weren't running at the crack of dawn or in the middle of the night. Just mid-evening when the temperature dropped two degrees from what it was today. Yeah, our high for today? I staggering 66 degrees. Folks, it's August. I need heat. I need laying in bed wishing some small boy was waving a giant leaf over me. I need a desire to wear shorts and t-shirts. I need a little perspiration to form from walking outside. I need a freaking summer. I know, there are those of you in Arizona who hate me right now, but honestly, I'm sick of being cold. Alright, I got it out. Time to put the down comforter over my head and go to bed.