It's not that I'm opposed to pumpkin spice or long nights or crunchy, golden leaves. It's that from that very first nip of fall in the air, I am perpetually, miserably freezing. My hands, wrapped around an ever present scalding cup of tea, are icy. My limbs, clad in the comforter that is my post Labor Day inside outfit, are studded in goose flesh. My fellow always-colds, I see you out there shivering when the thermometer dips below 70 degrees, and I feel your seasonal pain.
But why are we like this — and is there anything, short of moving to the equator, we can do about it?
