Minus Two

Dear Wife checked the weather in Paris this morning, the first time she has done so all month. The low is currently being reported as minus 2.

She shouted this at me through the sliding glass door as I was walking out to the beach. It was 72 or so here, sunny.

"MINUS TWO!" she shouts through the sliding glass door. I acknowledge her, my face starts to go numb, and I stagger out onto the beach, my steps slowing as my state of shock keeps deepening.

"Minus TWO?"

That is so much colder than when we left. It was in the high 30's when the cab picked us up for the airport nearly a month ago. Now it's below zero?!?

I was unhappy knowing I should be forced to buy even more new clothes, the sort necessary to deal with that kind of cold. I hadn't bought a heavy overcoat while we were in Paris, it just seemed too expensive and too specialized, and besides, I couldn't find one I really liked. But now I'd need some kind of artic outerwear--heavy duty long underwear, too.

I'd stopped repeating, "Minus two?" out loud, over and over, but was still mutely agonizing over this news when Dear Wife came out to explain to me that the temperature was minus 2 degrees Centigrade, not fahrenheit. I'd never before been so thankful for the world of Celsius. Minus 2 C is just the high twenties or so (28.4, to be exact, thank you Versatile Unit Converter widget). High 20's we can handle.