by Amelia Kanan
60 Degrees. That’s where my dad likes to keep the thermostat. Otherwise, he says he gets too hot. Cut to me. Sleeping in a room with two exterior walls, one of which has a window that my head abuts. Sure, I lay under a sheet, 3 wool blankets and two down comforters. Plus, I am fully clothed in fleece pants, a turtle neck and slipper boots. Yet, this only provides safety to the body parts that are sheltered from the air. I sleep on my tum, with my hands strategically tucked under my chest to keep safe from Jack Frost. This leaves one side of my face defenseless to the nip.
The cold is like that annoying friend from childhood sleepovers that can’t go to sleep. It pesters you, pinches your nose and blows on your face so you won’t fall asleep and abandon it. I don’t want to be its friend but I’m too persnickety to ignore it.
I think a family meeting is in order for the morning. Maybe I’ll crank the heat to 68 degrees and smoke everyone out of bed.
In the most bitter way possible, I hope you all are cozy and warm.