Why then, in my late 50's, am I suddenly too cold?
I remember perfectly clearly when I couldn't bear to have anything around my waist or between my legs in bed. I remember it because after I had my hernia tucked back in '04 my poor bandaged tum wanted protection from the vile sheets and duvets and I was hard put to find something that would keep both of us happy. (Old pair of floppy shorts was the answer. They still rode up at night.)
I remember perfectly clearly my discovery, quite by accident in Japan, that if my head was warm the rest of me would be fine. Thus began a series of outsize fuzzy hoodies that were perfect until, paradoxically, I started getting too cold in *summer* with the window fans, when fuzzy hoodies are not what I want on me. That was solved splendidly by the loose-knit balaclava kintail made for me last year. Then the window fans were too cold on my *arms*, so I replaced my tshirts with ratty old long-sleeve tops. (Never throw *anything* away. This is why people live in houses.)
I hope you see the progression here?
Last night it was in the low 40s, and I wore: fuzzy socks, flannel pyjama pants, long sleeve shirt, fuzzy hoodie and my balaclava. (Yes, both. The hoodie alone lets the cold air onto my poor frostbitten ears.) With a hot water bottle. And feather duvet. And flannel sheets. And the heat on, which I call a luxury above 40F, 10C.
And my hands were too cold, dammit. Next up- mittens.