You've Got To Be Kidding Me

You're typing at roughly 5 words per minute because it is as if you're outside in the midst of a mid-December blizzard. You just walked into a room and your two-hour-old water bottle that was sitting out has a crisp cold taste. Your laptop, made of aluminum, is fresh out the freezer underneath your hands. [Stops to breath hot air on hands.] Okay it's not freezing outside, ringing in at a nice 70 degrees. This does not justify leaving the AC on like its mid-July. [Note taken at this time: thermostat reads 62 degrees.] No one wants to live in an igloo, unless they're in Alaska. [Takes break to warm hands underneath down blanket.]

An hour-long class in a room filled with a hundred people: subjected to having to sit, shivering, in a room the temperature of arctic winds. The temperature outside reads 66 degrees; excuse me, I forgot my parka. Actual Human Photo (of someone else in the same room): are you kidding me guy? It's fuckin freezing in here, and you're wearing that. Nonetheless, it's 66 degrees outside, and you're wearing that. [Stayed tuned for Fashion is Danger: Muscle Shirts.] Bonus: you've got cargo shorts!

Alas! A beloved attic, sitting atop a fine house, once spotted having a recorded temperature of 59 degrees in the summertime. [Moments ago: relief from a faucet of flowing hot water.] In this house, it is as if heat didn't rise. Summer is wintertime, and wintertime is unbearable.