Jun 2, 2015 3 min read

After a long, cold winter, warm weather has finally arrived. Temperatures went on a roller coaster this spring with more peaks and dips than the Thunderbolt. That’s also a good description of my internal thermometer, which swings wildly from hot to cold and seldom hovers in the middle.

I used to laugh when I would hear women of a certain age talk about hot flashes and the “change of life.” I haven’t suffered through that yet, but I am dreading it based on the ongoing battle over the temperature that plays out in our house. I live with my dad, who has reached the age where he has to check “senior citizen” on surveys. I remember my mom talking about how she’d wake up in the middle of the night and throw off the sheets because my dad’s body was emitting too much heat for one queen bed. Through the years, I’ve heard many couples and families talk about temperature wars being waged over the furnace, air conditioning and amount of blankets and quilts piled on the bed. It’s a true battle of the sexes.

A man’s home is his castle, and my dad rules the thermostat with an iron fist. It’s as if there’s an invisible shield around it and if anyone touches it, an alarm sounds that only he and dogs can hear. Each spring and fall, an epic battle unfolds over when we’ll switch from heating to cooling or vice versa and at what temperature to set the thermostat. It used to be that once that number was negotiated, it was etched in stone, never to change all season. Nowadays, the ruling party seems to be a bit more willing to negotiate … or so it seems. Once I am satisfied that we’ve decided on a temperature for the air conditioning, I turn in for the night only to awake in a pool of sweat and wonder if menopause has finally set upon me. Then I discover that someone (who shall remain nameless) has arisen in his flannel PJs and covertly inched the temperature up a notch or two because he is cold, I have to wonder if this is what hot flashes are like.

I used to look at my mom like she was crazy when she’d have a hot flash, start perspiring and say her ears were turning purple. I just couldn’t imagine what that felt like. Now I know. I have resigned myself to the lightest-weight sheet and pajamas and started running the ceiling fan on low (a move that stirs up my dust allergies). That has helped to alleviate the risk of spontaneous human combustion, though it seems I’m destined to either be Sneezy or Sweaty, who I’m pretty sure are part of the Seven Dwarfs.

Don’t even get me started about the spike in body temperature that ensues when blow-drying my mop of hair. I think my ears just turned purple.

Kristin Emery can be reached at kristinemery1@yahoo.com.