My husband is hot. And I don’t mean physically, well, I do mean physically, just not in the way you’re thinking (though that is true too). No, I mean, he radiates an unbelievable amount of heat (imagine a 75,000 BTU furnace, and then double it). I’ve heard this is common of men, and that women are always cold.
If this is in fact true (and right now my sample size of one of each gender with all other evidence being anecdotal only, I do not place much faith in the scientific value of my statements herein), I can see a sort of need for this back when men were hunting and gathering and women were staying home to tend to the home fires. What doesn’t make sense, then, is that (and again, this is in my experience without any scientific rigour) men can’t see what is right in front of their faces. And if he can’t see the watch that is less than a foot from him, and all shiny and glinty and stuff, how is he going to see a deer at 500 feet when it’s camouflaged in its environment?
So, while I may never discover the reason for it, I guess, as the temperature wars wage on at 63 Westmount Mews (I don’t know how to change the scheduled settings on the thermostat, but I do know how to jack up the heat and use that hold button), I will take advantage of my very own private heat source. I have discovered, for example, that I can use his back as a heating pad for my back, as long as my pj’s are flame-retardant; and that on those cold nights on a May canoe trip, sharing a sleeping bag with Hot Phil sure does keep the hypothermia at bay.