The Name I'm Going to Call
That means we were caught completely unaware when, in the middle of the night, we began to slowly turn into frosty-delicious peoplesicles under our thin summer bedspread.
I admit we should've seen it coming. The first sign? Alistair (Orangeyboy #1) hopped up on the coffee table and stared at us until we spread out his favorite blanket on the couch. Then he settled in for a long nap. Ha. That cat never comes near the couch during warm weather.
The next sign? After Darwin retired early, I went to the office to stare at the computer for a few hours. I ignored my icy fingers for a while, and even once I could ignore them no longer, I blamed it on the office itself. Eh, that room's always cold.
I still managed to be shocked when I slid under the (woefully thin) covers with my hubby and he said, "I'm cold! Do we have another blanket?"
Sure do, honey! Feeling very motherly and efficient, I grabbed a quilt from the bench at the foot of the bed and spread it out over us. Ah, now we'll be warm and cozy, cuddled up together the whole night through. What bliss!
Oh, if only it worked out that way. We spent the night huddled together - not cuddled, huddled - perfectly still, with our heads under the covers. If we moved our feet to one side or the other, they'd hit freezing sheets. If we came up for air, our faces hit the naked cold.
So this is what we get for dreaming of spring too soon and putting away the cold-weather trappings.
If God were Tyra Banks, he'd be saying, "The name I'm going to call is ... everyone in the world but Darwin and Kristin." And we'd be stuck going back to the gaudily decorated house to pack up our all our things, blow one last kiss to the giant Twiggy poster, and head back to the farm in Ohio, where everyone will tell us we're still beautiful to them and we're better off working at the Dairy Queen anyway.