In the middle of a 95 degree day it is totally normal for my hands and feet to feel cold to the touch. I regularly wear a jacket around my house in the mornings and before bed through the summer , the AC is just to cold for me most days. It is not out of character for me to put Luke’s wool ski socks on to wear around the house, or to sleep in, year round. I am cold. I have become my mother, but that, my friends, is for a different days discussion.
So I don’t feel it should have been much of surprise to my husband, of all people, to catch me in the act…of laying in the warm fresh-from-the-dryer sheets. *gasp* Okay, to be honest it was less laying in the sheets and more fully cocooning myself in them.
When I started pulling the warm sheets from the basket to be folded I just couldn’t help myself. My cold hands were in heaven and I knew that my cold feet would love the warm sheets too and well if my cold hands and feet loved the radiating warmth than the rest of my body would too. So I did what any (slightly) sane, and cold person would do, I wrapped my body from head to toe in the jackpot of warmth that was my sheets straight from the dryer.
For some reason it did not seem all that strange to me. At least it did not seem strange up until the moment I got caught and then I felt like I had been caught in the act of something elicit and secret.
I can’t help it if I am cold. It is like a lizard on a hot rock, or at least that is how I explained it to Luke. I am not sure if he really understands though since I never seem to see him wearing his fleece jackets around the house or putting on thick socks in the winter much less the summer months.
Lesson Learned: Always dry the laundry when Luke is gone. Then there will be no one home to snicker and roll their eyes at me when I dump half of the warm basket of clothes on feet to keep me warm while I fold the other half.