Frigid Fingers

Being married to Tom is great.  He's a great guy.  Also, he tends to run hot all the time and I tend to always be cold.  My solution to this problem is to stick whatever body part (normally my fingers, toes or nose) on his neck or lower back as a means of a) tormenting my dear husband  b) warming up said body part.  It's shocking I wasn't single for a longer period of my life. 

Naples is having the coldest winter in 30 years.  Just like California had some weather anomoly when we moved there and the El Nino phenomenon when I was a child, I tend to move to the places that have unnaturally bad weather during my stay.  

Most of our friends have electric heating elements mounted in the wall as well as radiators.  We do not.  We only have the wall mounted ones.  And they suck.  A lot.  Our place is so effing cold that you can see your breath in the bathroom.  Taking a shower this weekend, the bathroom was so steamed up that I had a hard time finding the shampoo.  The thing is this: Italians don't use insulation in building construction.  This means that you spend a small fortune heating your house and moments later, your house is freezing again.  As I write this, my fingers are white from cold.  Needless to say, it's been unpleasant.  I have found that space heaters are heavenly and can regularly be found sitting as close to ours as is possible.  "Lynne, do you want to spread out on the couch?"  "No, I'm fine sitting on the edge of this one cusion, closer to the heater." 

We also tend to live only in our bedroom or the living room, keeping both rooms somewhat closed off to keep the heat inside.  If you need something out of another room, you have to sprint, gently open and close the door, grab the item and then sprint back.  "DON'T OPEN THE DOOR SO QUICKLY!  YOU'LL SUCK OUT ALL OF THE WARM AIR!"    [I am obviously the one speaking in all caps.  Tom is the one that leaves the door open when he changes the laundry.  Unacceptable, Keenan.  Unacceptable.]

On a completely unrelated note:  Over the weekend, during a flight of fancy, I bought a new Italian coat and... a fur collar.  It was such a splurge and so entirely unnecessary but I'll say that my feeling of being truly Italian was very high as I donned my new fur to dinner last night.  Rocking my D&G glasses and a fur, oh child, I felt the warmth of Alta Moda (Italy's designer fashion).  Upon returning to my home, I discovered that the cats are terrified of the new fur and a turf war began.  Trying to rationalize with my three cats, I sat down and said "Listen guys, we can work this out.  The fur is a new friend in our household, let's all try to make it feel welcome."  They scoffed at this idea and timidly sniffed the fur before hissing and running away.  Alas, the fur now lives in the closet and the cats are not allowed near it.  Crisis averted.  But note, cats, the fur is staying.