Heat
I hate the cold. Perhaps it's the Spanish in me, but I just don't have much tolerance for it physically. I am often chilly when others are just fine. (My male acquaintances love this about me, I know.) So I stash sweaters, hoodies and little electric heaters everywhere I can, including under my desk at work. Illegal, but if you stick me under a vent, you get what you get. And on the plus side, it keeps people from asking me to do things for them because it's about 80 degrees at my desk. My third favorite heater is Dewey, the sole heat source in my apartment in San Antonio. Dewey was not only an old-school gas heater, it was a life affirming old-school gas heater because every time I turned the knob to start the gas flow and lit the flames with a match and didn't blow up, it was another good day. I didn't trust Dewey, but it was always a pleasure coming home from work in the winter at dusk, pulling over that little bear skin rug and curling up with a blanket for a qu...