Fireside Friday~In Which I Tell a Story

The Engineer: “Hey, do you have plans for tomorrow?”
Me: “Why yes, I do have plans. To write. Why? What were you thinking?” Hmm, could be something fun, right? A belated Valentine’s lunch out since he’d missed it due to a business trip…
The Engineer: “Someone on Craig’s list is selling those pavers and supplies for the retaining wall we need and I thought we could go to the stone yard and look at them.”  
The Engineer: “Well?”
Me: “It’s 20 degrees outside.”
The Engineer: “It’s going to be warmer tomorrow.”
Me: “40 degrees. I checked. No. Still too cold. Can’t you just send me a photo and I’ll let you know if I like the color from the warmth of my writing space?”
The Engineer: “Sure, but I thought it would be fun. Like when we shopped for a new car in Arizona together.”
The Engineer: “You remember that, right? When you were pregnant with–“
Me: “Oh, I remember. It’s pretty much seared, and I mean that literally, into my memory. By the 100+ degree heat. It’s hard to forget the buckets of fun of being eight months pregnant in Arizona. In May. On black pavement so hot that melted bits of it stuck to my shoes. On car lot after car lot. Pavement so hot weathermen reported the temperature by how fast an egg fried on it. Good times. And still I’d rather do that again than be cold.”
The Engineer: “…So that’s a no?”
Me: “I would rather burn up in a fiery conflagration on the planet of Mars than shatter into a million pieces of ice on planet Pluto.”
The Engineer: “Oh, okay. But Pluto’s not an actual planet.” 
The Engineer: “Anymore.” Cleared throat. Waited a second. “How about I just send you a photo to look at?” 

True story. It was over 120 degrees the day we brought our first child home from the hospital. We did end up buying a new vehicle before the baby arrived. A Toyota 4Runner. So, of course, we went 4-wheeling in the desert before the baby arrived. (Boy was I young and stupid!) but imagine a baby sitting on your bladder while you off-road on bumpy, rocky terrain.

So, I’m spending tomorrow writing. Inside. Where it’s warm. Because I really, really hate being cold. How about you? Would you rather sweat it out on a 110 degree summer day or freeze your behind (and toes, and fingers, and nose!) off on some 20 degree frozen tundra?