Well, as my cousin up north and my sister wife will tell you, it's been wicked pissah cold in the northeast this week. The temperature dipped below freezing during the night and barely crept above ten degrees during the day.
Very. Very. Cold.
I, as you may know, like cold in general. But I noticed a strange thing during this cold snap. Once the temperature dipped below twenty degrees, I lost my ability to move more than a few feet away from the fireplace. I dressed in hobo layers, parked myself in front of the fire and sat. I could not muster the energy to take care of laundry or dust or make dinner. Those things required movement and movement was just not in the plan.
I sat and considered all of the things which needed to get done and the furniture I wanted to rearrange and could not do it. I spent several days like this.
I had just about given up on ever getting anything done when a strange thing happened. I stopped being cold. Just like that.
I got up, started the laundry and began hauling furniture around the house. I swept and dusted and rearranged like a mad woman! I was back!
Then I left the house for a bit and noticed a curious thing. The car thermometer read thirty-five degrees.
Apparently I am built like a very fussy car. I will only run above twenty degrees and under seventy-five degrees. I also need premium chocolate and a maid, but I am pretty sure that at this point the analogy breaks down.