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It's no secret that long-term marriages have their ups and downs. We expect to be mushy-gushy one day and want to kill each other the next.

But no one told me that, after 34 years of pretty much wedded bliss, we would reach midlife and go through a stage in which our marriage would run so hot and cold.

Literally.

As I write this, sitting on top of our bed in a t-shirt and light cotton capri pajama bottoms with the fan blowing overhead and the terrace door wide open, my husband is hunkered down at the desk in his office, wrapped in a king-sized Anthropologie blanket, with all the doors and windows shut tight.

I'm going to guess it's around 80 degrees. He would probably guess it's around 40.

Forget about Venus and Mars. It seems men are from Florida and women from Antarctica.

How can our bodies be wired so differently?

I'm not sure when we started drifting toward opposite climate zones but I do remember having the whole family over for the holidays a few years ago and my mother, my sister and I ripping off layers of clothing and fanning ourselves with dish towels. I'd like to believe it was because we had been slaving over a hot stove, preparing a delicious, home-cooked meal, but that's just plain fantasy.

On that same occasion, I also remember someone yelling at me not to turn down the thermostat. With hormones raging, I whipped around to find my husband, my father and my brother-in-law huddled together on the couch in front of the fireplace, practically shivering, in their sweaters and wool socks.

That was the moment I realized nature is a great practical joker.

I mean, look at the progression of our lives. When we're young (Michael and I met when I was 18 and he was 20), it's usually the girls who are cold - though I'm convinced that has less to do with body temperature and more to do with dressing for fashion instead of for the weather. So the guys offer us their jackets - because they are dressed for the weather and are wearing an appropriate layer underneath. They feel manly and protective, we feel loved and cute in their oversized outerwear, and everyone's happy.

But then the years go by, and suddenly we're the ones reminding our husbands to carry a sweater to the movies. Or the grocery store. Or the beach.

While we're having night sweats and hot flashes.

When we were in college, I threw one of Michael's sweaters down the incinerator when he was sleeping because it was purple, turtleneck and horrendous. Okay, I'm not proud of that action and, subconsciously, that guilt may be one of the reasons I agreed to move from New York to San Diego, where I wrongly assumed he would never again need that sweater.

You see, although we now live in probably the most temperate climate in the world, I'm always hot and he's always cold.

This past summer, which even he would agree was one of the hottest and most uncomfortable on record, we spent many evenings negotiating the air conditioning. I admit it costs a fortune when we use it but, come on - we're reaching an age when heat can be very dangerous to your health, right?

When our beloved Newfoundland was alive, we kept the air conditioning on all the time for her. For me? Not so much.

Most nights, you can find me lying - awake - on top of the comforter in my underwear, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail and the fan whirring at its highest speed, while my husband sleeps contently, snuggled under a couple of blankets.

So when I got invited on a press trip to the Yucatan Peninsula in September, I grabbed one of my friends who's experiencing the same issues, and, with the promise of free air conditioning luring us in, we happily arrived at the luxurious Hacienda Puerta Campeche, where we headed right to our room and cranked that baby up. In fact, we even asked for extra blankets - which earned us a strange look from the lovely woman sweating at the front desk.

If we had been traveling with our husbands, there's a good chance they would have preferred to spend the night in the hammocks outside.

I slept so well with that frigid air circulating, I'm thinking it may be time to get a big, hairy dog again just so I can share its apparently unrestricted access to the air conditioning. And if it gets too cold for Michael, he can simply cuddle into her natural fur coat.

Somehow - maybe because he's actually ensconced in a warm and wondrous dreamland while I toss and turn and send out a silent prayer to be transformed into Elsa in "Frozen" (yes, I want to build a snowman, damn it) - Michael doesn't seem to be bothered by any of this.

In fact, when I mentioned I was going to write about the fact that women get hotter with age and men get colder, he said, "You mean emotionally?"

So now I'm thinking we should just take separate vacations. I'm going to Venus but he'll be heading to Mars.

And, because I love him dearly, I'll remind him to pack a sweater.

- Lois Alter Mark

Lois Alter Mark, a travel expert at USA Today, also blogs at Midlife at the Oasis and The Huffington Post. In 2013, she was named the top blogger in Blogger Idol, the premier blogging contest for bloggers. She also won BlogHer Voices of the Year Awards in 2012, 2013 and 2014. After being selected as an Ultimate Viewer by Oprah, she accompanied her to Australia on the trip of a lifetime.