At last, consensus: You know what sucks? Trying to prevent global warming by freezing your ass off in a tipi all winter

Not one more winter in the tipi, honey | Grist

But at some point, the weather turns, or the project slows. Or a baby arrives, and everything gets more complicated. For whatever reason, their brio fades, NOMWITTH sets in, and what was once a joint project becomes a battlefield, XX vs. XY. In mild cases, help is hired, the house gets a roof, and all ends well. In more serious cases, one person -- inevitably XX -- splits town for a fully furnished condo with central heating, leaving XY alone with the low-carbon dream.

I've seen many couples, and carbon budgets, fall prey to NOMWITTH

Women who love men who live in huts too much | Colorado Central Magazine

A year ago, I started dating another biologist. Somewhere in the first flush of romance, we stood high in the Rockies watching a particularly gorgeous lilac, pink and tangerine sunset play off the surrounding peaks. Birds tootled melodiously. My sweetie put his arms around me, nuzzled me on the neck and identified the divine song as that of the hermit thrush. Then he said, “Let’s drive back to town and rent Naked Gun.”

My knees nearly buckled with lust. I had met the biologist of my dreams. Sure, he lives in New England, where he teaches classes on global warming when he isn’t flying out to see me. But heck. Life is paradoxical and love is more so.