Oddly enough, reading about sex isn't making me aroused. It's making me sleepy. Might be because it's just a little chilly in here -- yesterday it got cold in Chicago -- sweater weather. Very nice if you're walking around, a little cold if you're sitting inside working at the computer with the window open a bit so you can have some fresh air. I've started living in my flannel pyjamas again (need a new pair or two), and if you lived here with me, you would very quickly get tired of seeing them, since they'll be mostly what I wear 'til spring comes. I added socks yesterday to fight the chill, but when I climbed into bed to wake up Kevin ('cause it was two p.m., and usually he's up by then), he complained about my cold feet, and said I should be wearing socks. I said I was wearing socks. I squeezed his toes with my toes, through my socks, making clear that there was in fact fabric there. He said I should be wearing thicker socks, or slippers. I said that someone could buy me some for Christmas then, kindly not pointing out that two years ago I'd asked for slippers for Christmas and not gotten them, and that I'd been sadly slipper-less ever since. Well, and before that too. I'm not sure I've ever actually owned a pair of fuzzy slippers. I could buy myself some, but it never occurs to me. Maybe because I grew up in a barefoot house, and even today, we have to tell my mother to put socks on when she gets cold. It's what happens when you take an island person and plop them into winter -- they just don't cope well.
The upshot of all this debate is that this morning, when I got cold, I snuck into the bedroom and stole his slippers. This is one of the nicest things about living with someone -- you get to use their stuff, especially when they're too asleep to defend it properly. The slippers are warm and fuzzy on my feet, and I'm almost warm enough now. More tea, I think, and perhaps a sweatshirt. And if I get too cold, I can always climb back into bed with Kevin and warm my cold toes on him.