Rhiannon and I have an issue in our life together. She is cold. Almost all the time. Especially her hands and feet – and she puts her frozen appendages on me as much as possible. Examples:
Me: (As Rhiannon gets home) “Hi honey, how was your day?” Rhiannon: “Good. Come give me a hug.” Translation: “Good. My hands are freezing, come let me put them on your back.”
Rhiannon: (As we get ready to watch a movie) “Come cuddle with me.” Translation: “Come let my feet slowly freeze your legs.”
Rhiannon: (Putting her feet by me in bed) “Are my feet bothering you?” Translation: “You don’t have frostbite yet, do you?”
Rhiannon: “I’m going to warm my hands up on you.” Translation: “I just washed my hands in really cold water on purpose, so prepare to be frozen like that one guy in the Terminator movie.”
Luckily, in my heart burns the eternal flame of passion for her, so I can withstand the near absolute temperatures I am subjected to daily.
I still run for my life when she gets that look in her eye – the look that says I feel like I love you now (and I’m full of ice crystals, let me touch you).