I think I have discovered a new syndrome. A disorder. An abnormality. It has been observed in only one woman in the world. Me. I'm going to call it Oppositional Temperature Disorder. Its victim has an issue with thermodynamic equilibrium.
I can not maintain my perceived body temperature at an even keel. In between arguing po TAY to / po TAH to and Missour ee / Missour ah with everyone, I must also argue it's too hot / it's too cold. Maybe I'll rename my disorder Goldilocks Syndrome.
At school, where my thermostat hovers at 72 degrees, I am either too hot, or too cold. My face flushes reddish purple, or my hands are colder than the Grinch's heart when he pulled that candy cane out of little Cindy Lou Who's slumbering hands.
At home, where the thermostat is also set at 72 degrees, I must use a sweatshirt, blanket, and electric heater to cut the chill. I am not at all like my son, Genius, a strapping sixteen-year-old boy who wants to crank the thermostat to 70 and open the windows in his room.
No matter what the temperature, I feel the opposite temperature desires of the people around me. I'm sure I inherited this gene from my mother. She does not display the actual symptoms, but she verbalizes her opposition. Perhaps she's a carrier.
In the summer, when the outside temperature is a steamy 98 degrees, Mom sits in her home, thermostat showing 89 inside the house, dabbing at her neck with half of a Bounty Select-A-Size paper towel, proclaiming, "It's cool down here in my family room. I don't see any need to turn on the air conditioner until August."
When winter rolls around, you will find Mom's thermostat set at 62 degrees. "Oh, honey. I have these two tower heaters and a fire in the fireplace, and my warm velour pajamas and my robe, and that thick blanket, and I tie my scarf around my head. I'm comfortable. I don't like my furnace to run continuously."
She might have her own syndrome, that one.