Sweating the small stuff

With African blood coursing through my veins, I'm afraid I feel the cold. Even though the sun often peeks through the clouds at this time of year and global warming is doing its best to convince us that it's summer, heating in our house will remain on full blast until we have another hosepipe ban in the South-East.

My dear husband, who spent much of his formative years in the wild, open countryside and picturesque village dwellings without central heating (NO CENTRAL HEATING, CAN YOU IMAGINE?!!) he has learnt to accept my idiosyncracies with commendable sang-froid. Sweet angel.

However, to my horror and confusion, I have a child who simply doesn't feel the cold - she is truly her father's daughter. Although she's prone to coughs, fevers and has the most congested respiratory tract in the northern hemisphere, she is hugely averse to winter wear and all things warm and cosy.
Alex decided to express this preference at 8am this morning, refusing to wear tights 'because they itch and I want to wear socks!'. Sounds reasonable enough if you don't suffer from frost fear, as I do.
'But your legs will freeze darling, especially when you're out at play at lunchtime.' I protested. She gazed at me incredulously with an impatient, wry expression that almost screamed, 'Have you ever been in a playground? Do you think we just stand around?'

Now, this could have developed into an almighty battle but being severely time poor and sleep deprived, I gave in and Alex promptly produced regulation grey school socks, beaming with delight as she triumphantly pulled them over her little legs, and all became soothingly quiet. As for the cold legs and frost bite...well, it'll take more than half bare pins and an irrational mother to bring on these fearful states by a child like Alex. Unlike me, she doesn't sweat the small stuff she simply likes to work one up.