San Francisco is known for its unseasonable, changeable weather, and every time I forget what it’s like until my teeth are clacking together and I am borrowing socks from Wiggles and layering on sweatshirts, t-shirts, cleaning rags, and once, a sweater of Theo’s. But part of my temperature issue is that Wiggs and the Lord & Master like to keep the house at a brisk 60 degrees, while they wear sleeveless shirts, drink frosty Coca-Colas and make CD’s of torch singers for Sassy and me to take back to NYC.
This is very reminiscent of when we were kids and Bob and Jeanne wanted to keep the heating bills low. Bob in particular would march through the house, snapping off lights and turning down thermostats while asking, “What, do you work for ConEd? Don’t tell me you’re cold! Just put on a sweater, for Chrissakes!” Our brother Andy had a long running joke about opening up the fridge to get some heat. He was only partly kidding.
If you want to know how cold it is here, just look at what I wore to bed last night:
Seriously! Pray for me!