I play this game every autumn. It’s the one where I wait as long as I possibly can before I turn the heat on in the evenings. I can make it fairly late in the calendar year because I tend to run a little warmer than other people and also I bundle up. Plus, my evenings are full of cooking dinner, cleaning up, etc. There is much movement until I settle down to read. At that point I can retreat under blankets until it is time to go to bed.
The heat has been on, mind you. That other person I live with isn’t quite as active when he is home, nor is he so much into the stoicism involved in playing the game. The difference between us is that I’m convinced, in some small way, that some day I will make it thorough the winter without turning on the heat. I think of the pioneers, or even people at the turn of the century, who really had to work to get their heat. Surely they wouldn’t stoop to turning on the heat on such a comparatively warm night? Whereas Matt would rather be comfortable. So weekends, when we are both home, have been pretty warm. Comparatively. Our heat is usually set to 60 degrees. But weeknights it is just me and I regret to report that tonight was the night that I couldn’t stand the cold any longer.