From The Outdoor Journal

One of many character flaws is that I am always cold. My comfort range hovers between 84 and 87 degrees Fahrenheit. When I am cold and miserable, which, given the narrowness of my spectrum, is often, I tend to announce that status to the world. Once, I was walking with my friend Sage on a later summer night. She said, “I’m cold.”
I said, “Do you want my jacket.”
Sage looked at me with the expression of a patient but exasperated mother and said, “No, because then I’ll have to
listen to you say ‘I’m cold I’m cold I’m cold.’”
At the time, Sage was six years old.