I have friends on the East Coast battling negative degrees. Negative. I’m shivering just thinking about it. Or, I could be shivering because my heater is broken.
When the fan wouldn’t come on, I did what I always do and took it to Facebook. I might have mentioned the kids and I were in imminent danger of our eyelashes turning to icicles to my friends, family, friends of friends, and people who claim to be family and I’m not sure so I accepted their friend request because I didn’t want to offend Aunt Betty.
They responded in typical fashion. Some told me to check my batteries on the thermostat. Others – my mom – warned me not to touch anything electrical because it was too dangerous and why don’t I call my ex. This, of course, made me laugh out loud – literally – because my ex only just knows the difference between a flathead and a Phillips. Overall, the general consensus urged me to call my landlord and set up a space heater.
So I bundled up the kids in socks and sweats and long sleeved flannel pajama tops, tucked them under down comforters, and piled extra blankets on top of them.
After all, it’s supposed to dip into the low 40s or, maybe, the 30s.
Tomorrow my landlord will come over and tell me the pilot light blew out or some such thing and fix the heater in twenty seconds. Tonight, I’m microwaving a bean bag and sticking it under my covers.
You can’t be too careful with frigid temperatures.
How are all of you surviving the cold?
