It’s so weird how things change over the years.

I clearly remember when my wife and I first started dating, she would complain that I always wanted to crank the air conditioning in my apartment.

“Open up the windows,” she’d say. “Get some fresh air in here.”

She hated air conditioning, and I loved it. I couldn’t get enough of it. I especially loved sleeping with the air conditioning on full blast.

Fast forward 18 years into our marriage, and somewhere along the line, we have completely switched. We are both polar opposites to where we were when we first started dating.

Now, if my wife could climb inside the air conditioner, she would. For the past two or three nights, she has planed herself right in front of one of our window units and just sat there complaining about how hot she is.

Am I hot? Yeah, I guess. It’s pretty hot when I’m outside, but I’m not hot when I’m in an air-conditioned home or building.

As a matter of fact, I am ashamed to admit that I’m now the guy that won’t go into a restaurant without a sweatshirt in tow just in case I need it. More often than not, I am finding that restaurants are at about 32 degrees Fahrenheit. I used to walk into restaurants and drink up the air conditioning. The colder the better. I’m not sure when I turned 93 years old, but it was sometime in the past five years or so.

If you see me walking around my house wearing a hat and gloves, now you’ll know what’s going on.

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