The other night I came home and found my housemate sitting in the kitchen, all four stovetop gas burners going full bore.
“Are you cooking something?” I asked.
“No, I’m just cold.” He responded.
I spluttered at him to please put on a jumper, or wrap himself in a blanket, or even try turning the oven on instead. “I don’t want to pay for that waste of energy,” I said, probably a bit more grumpily than I needed to.
Our house is a draughty old terrace. A cool sanctuary in the summer, in winter it’s a bit punishing. I usually solve it by wrapping myself in a blanket and never taking off my socks.
I also try and encourage my cat to sleep right next to me at all times.