Battle of Measures

Dexter hates Farenheit and he insists that we only speak metric at home. I rebel on occasion because A) we're in the US of America, B) Farenheit is part of my heritage, and C) I don't appreciate the deflation of cold temperatures that goes on with Celsius. You can say –10° C and Europeans may freak out, but really that's only +14° F and no cause for concern. When I say minus ten, I know what minus ten means and it's really minus, like below zero Farenheit. ¶Anyway, today my trusty clock/thermometer tells me that it's exactly –1° C outside, and a whopping 15° C inside. Carry the one, that's a toasty 59° F indoors, so what am I complaining about? I should be amazed that without heat for four days I can still keep my apartment in the upper 50s. I am still burning the gas stove to boot and taking Tylenol to deal with the monoxide headaches. (I know, I know, who still uses Tylenol? Sigh, I am a child of the 80s). I've also been wearing long underwear all week, so perhaps the Washpost can tell me that my RealFeel ™ is somewhere in the low 70s, I dunno. That doesn't include the wind blowing through my five windows.