Here are a few indicators that you should really turn up the thermostat:
- You’re excited to get hospital slipper socks as a stocking stuffer because they’re warmer than regular socks.
- You’re excited to get a sweatshirt for Christmas because you’re finally warm.
- You find yourself trying to put off showers because you don’t want to get naked. (You’re definitely not sweating, so you can’t be all that dirty anyway, right?)
- You chant to yourself, “Being cold burns calories. Being cold burns calories.”
- Your hands are so cold that typing gets a little cumbersome.
- It’s 32 degrees outside.
- It’s 50 degrees inside.
Yep, I finally broke down and turned on the heat. I managed to wait it out for quite a while. But once the thermostat read 50 degrees — in the hallway, which I’m convinced is warmer than the rest of the house — I gave in. So I flicked on the heat… And set it to 60 degrees. Meaning it’s still somewhat uncomfortable in here — especially with the tile radiating cold — but darn it if I don’t feel all Alaskan-y again.
I’m such a wimp about the “cold” temperatures now that it’s depressing and a skosh embarrassing. After all, I used to wear shorts at 60 degrees. Now I wear long sleeves and maybe a jacket. Granted, I can handle 90+ degree heat like a champ. I’ve even been outside for an hour or more in 100+ weather. And heat tolerance here is as important as cold tolerance up there.
Logically, I know that at this point I’ve lived outside of Alaska longer than I lived there. But I grew up in that state, so I’ll always consider myself Alaskan to an extent. I’ll always have a little inner Alaskan. And every time I get chilly, I still hear her rolling her eyes. (She rolls them very loudly, apparently.)
When do you know it’s time to turn on the heat?