I sometimes fantasize about what I would do if I were king of the world. (Really, I'd be queen, but king sounds more ... well, more kingly.)
One of the first things I would do is to do away with temperature gauges which continually insult and assault my intelligence by telling me that it is 72 degrees when I know for a fact that it is at least a 102 degrees. Banks, in particular, delight in posting these false temperatures.
Why am I up in arms about this? Because when I'm in the car with The Wretch (aka my beloved), I frequently turn the AC down, wanting more cool air. He, wretch that he is, objects and invariably points to a convenient temperature posting, saying, "See, it's barely 70 out."
That place between the girls (my breasts) and the nape of my neck tell me that it's at least 110. These internal themometers are never wrong. They register temperatures with unerring accuracy.
Gem for the day: when you see a posted temperature that you know is wrong, you can be sure that it was set by a man.