At our place located halfway down the main hall is a little square box that has great powers. Powers strong enough to control my mood. Powers strong enough to cause a small war to commence between my husband and I. This little power box is the thermostat.
I've always had the curse of being hot-natured. The one who begs for just one car air vent to blow my direction. The one who searches for the nearest water fountain so I can splash some cold water on my face to cool down. My argument against cold-natured people has and will always be: you can always put clothes ON, but when you are hot...you can only take so many clothes off.
The little cold-natured minions seem to haunt me wherever I go. At my house growing up my dad used to tape "threatening" notes like "IF you touch this one more time you shall breath your last breath." But when you are the last person to go to sleep at night, you have the last touch on the thermostat. [cue evil laugh] Message to the "cold hands warm heart" crowd: grab a blanket unless you want to see me running around like a loony in my skibbies.