Something you may not know...about Pegs

In keeping with the spirit of revealing unnecessary information about ourselves, I've decided to share a little something that you might not know about Pegs. My delicate little wife, who is so warm of heart and spirit, has what is known in more refined circles as "cold mother-fucking hands and feet". In and of itself, having cold hands and feet is not extraordinary, and I would hardly presume to bother you with such seemingly insignificant information, but you have to understand that Pegs' extremities emit heat at a level slightly lower than liquid nitrogen. It's like a mutant superpower out of control, but without the spandex or secret identity.

Aside from having to wear mittens in August, Pegs carries on pretty much the same as the rest of us with ordinary, warm-blooded circulation. However, late at night, when all of the other citizens of Paris are tucked in and getting ready for the Sandman to come and whisk them away to dreamland, Pegs lies in wait for her victim (me) to make the fateful mistake of crawling into bed. Once I'm settled down and drifting into sleep, often with my back turned, Pegs will stealthily slide her frosty appendages under my shirt and between my thighs in a vain attempt to warm them up.

You know how sometimes when you touch something it's so hot or so cold that you don't even notice it at first, only to pull your hand away a moment later screaming because it hurts so badly? Well, this isn't like that at all; I scream pretty much the exact same instant that her hands and feet make contact, despite her typical admonition of "Shhhh. Breathe through the pain ... breathe through the pain." It's like having an entire gallon of ice cream scooped onto you about two inches below your naughty bits. Aside from my Eskimo friend Nagoo, I don't know many people who find that pleasant.