Guess what, Baby? It's not really cold outside

The thermometer may read 35 degrees. Doesn’t matter.

“I’m not cold.”

That would be No. 2. She’s not cold. Ever. No matter how low the mercury drops, she’s in a T-shirt, shorts and slides because her internal thermostat reads “Nah, I’m good.”

Really? Because I am freezing. I’ll wear sweats, shearling-lined boots, a scarf and a wool-alpaca-yak-qiviut (look it up) sweater coat — inside the house. As soon as I climb into the minivan, I flip the seat warmer switch to its highest toasted-buns setting. That’s just how I roll. I am a wimpy grownup.

Kids, apparently, are made of sturdier stuff.

A bunch of stories this winter have covered the phenomenon of kids who are never chilly and the parents who refuse to believe them and insist on winterproofing them anyway.

All I can say is, I’m thankful we don’t live in one of those subzero-temperature states where after 15 seconds of outside exposure, noses pop right off faces. Although, serves those kids right. No doubt their parents told them to bundle up.

If it’s cold enough to freeze pipes, it seems like you should at least cover your knees.

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But, what are you gonna do? She’s not cold. While I peek into No. 2’s closet and see an unworn, nice, paid-too-much-for-it coat, No. 2 sees a straitjacket (personally I think the extra straps and crossed arms look very on-trend). Pants? Those are the fashion equivalent of toy finger traps. “I hate pants,” she groans. “They’re not comfortable.”

While Nos. 1 and 3 leave the house looking like the love children of the Michelin Man (those rumors are not true, by the way, and I have the DNA tests to prove it), No. 2 looks like she’s headed on a tropical vacation.

I make like Olaf — or is it Elsa? — and just “Let It Go,” which really should be the anthem of parents everywhere, if only it didn’t make our ears bleed.

So imagine my surprise when a friend showed up to transport No. 3 to basketball practice along with her son and appeared, during a recent cold snap, at the door … in shorts.

“Aren’t you FREEZING?!” I shrieked.

“I don’t like pants,” she sheepishly admitted. An adult member of the winter, anti-pants movement.

I think she might be No. 2’s real mom.