Who Turned Off the Heat
I went to dinner last night with the lovely Danna last night. We had a very leisurely evening at the Old Spaghetti Factory. A little too leisurely, when I got home my husband had decided it was too hot in the house and turned down the thermostat. The last time this happened, his big ol fingers did something that prevented the stupid thing from coming back on at all. Guess what? It happened again.
Let me ask you, is 68 degrees too hot to you? In winter? I don't think so. All I ask is that he NOT touch the thermostat EVER. Is that so wrong? If he's hot, just switch it to off. Don't let those chubby nubs hit any buttons because it may take til next winter for me to figure out how to make it work again. Last night, we had no heat at all and it was a chilly 60 this morning. I'm sorry, I'm a California girl and that is just too fucking cold. I woke up feeling so angry about it. Like I can't let it go. I know if it doesn't work tonight, I can just call someone to help me rip the damn thing from the wall and shoot it with my beebee gun. Let's face it. I'm spoiled. I'm blessed with central heating, it's a luxury. Is it really worth getting so pissed off that I consider rubbing cat vomit on my husband's pillow in some twisted revenge plot? No. I say this because I actually slid in some this morning, so i'm cold and covered in cat vomit. Isn't that wonderful? Aren't you so glad you are reading this? If I say the word placenta, J is going to click the X right now. Don't worry J, I'm not.
It's now 9:20 and I'm feeling the anger melt as the heat from my office warms me. It's not the end of the world. People are dying, people are starving, I just don't have a little heat. Get OVER IT already.
Ok, I did.
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