The Weather Inside is Frightful

Month four of interdenominational, cross-cultural, pan-socioeconomic wedded bliss. The husband is coming to terms with the concept of being a starving newlywed. ("Coming to terms" means "he realized how mad I was that he kept going to his mother's house for free food and internet.") The temperature hovers in the twenties and the heater is out in the living room. We come home and leave our coats on, cuddle up together* on the sofa under multiple blankets, watch Dexter and eat miniature marshmallows toasted over the gas stove. The cat wedges himself into the folds of shivering limbs. I try to start a sing-a-long.