Last week, my boss was talking about the “cold snap” they were experiencing. She lives in Florida. It was 82 degrees. I just laughed.
82 degrees is NOT cold!
On Sunday, I was using my fancy new iPhone and Face Time to talk to my brother and actually SEE him (and, on occasion, his dogs, his beautiful and very pregnant wife, his TV, and the new rug they bought for their kitchen) even though he was in a different state. (Sidenote: One of my favorite things about living in the Kansas City metro is that I can say “my brother lives in a different state” but he is, in fact, less than 30 minutes from me. Also confusing my South Carolinian/Floridian/Georgian/Kentuckian co-workers about the whole KCK/KCMO thing. That’s fun, too.) I couldn’t convince him to show me the nursery, which is painted in a gender-specific color even though they’ve steadfastly refused to share this knowledge with the rest of us. Hmph.
Midway through our call, brother explains that I’m going to lose him soon because he has to go to CVS and get chocolate (I mentioned the pregnant wife already, right?), but he wants to see if he can get to his car before passing into the cruel, WiFi-less world. He steps outside in short sleeves, and says something like, “holy crap it’s cold.” Being the older sister, I have to make fun.
Brother, it’s 56 degrees. It’s not cold.
“I’m in short sleeves!”
56 degrees is not cold.
The next morning, I’m preparing for my run. Husband sees me step out of the bedroom wearing shorts and a long-sleeved dry-fit shirt and says, “it’s pretty cold and windy out there.” I tell him that I know, which is why I’ve conceded to wearing a long-sleeved shirt. He shakes his head. We learned early on in our marriage that Husband and I experience cold differently. I’d come home from cross country practice and he’d be getting ready to run. At first, when he asked me if it was cold I’d respond with how it felt to me. Most often, that answer would be “no.” It took only a couple of extremely uncomfortable runs for us to discover that if I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, he’d want to be wearing pants instead of shorts. If I was wearing tights, he probably wanted two layers. Now, when one of us asks the other about the temperature, we can make the conversion. “You’ll be fine in shorts” or “Better break out the spandex.”
Yesterday, I stepped out into temps in the mid-40s and winds gusting above 20mph for a delightful run.
44 degrees is not cold.
This morning, I knew we were in a frost advisory and that the temperature could technically be below freezing. I’m not completely crazy, so I compensate by wearing capri pants and a t-shirt on top of a long-sleeved dryfit shirt. I step into the living room, where Scott is feeding LilRunr. “It’s officially below freezing!” he tells me. And you know what?
31 degrees is a LITTLE cold. But I LOVE IT!