My husband and I are very "Jack Spratt"; he's slim and I am almost a hundred pounds heavier than he is. Which means, amongst other things, that I am always lots warmer than he is. I am throwing off heat. My body generates tons of it. With all these solid layers of fat, I am encased in thermoheat wraps, the internal kind. Now with summer just a twitch away, I break out in a clammy sweat just thinking of stepping outside.
So the other evening, I glance over at my freshly showered and clad~for~the~night husband stretched out in his recliner. The air~conditioner is set on 74, I'm in my panties and v~necked T, hair up off my neck. He's in his long sleeved T, the one with super~heros on it. A thick pair of woolen socks are covering his feet. And his sleep pants? Fleece, festooned with teenage mutant ninja turtle faces.
I'm hot summer. He's a snuggly winter night.
We're an odd couple, but we fit together hand in glove. We both are comfortable, with ourselves and with each other. Even if he is a 58 yr old going on twelve.