Run out back for a quick smoke. Only half a smoke because the cold is making your eyes tear up. Run back inside and shut the door, leaving the frigid air behind. Turn out the lights. Head into the bedroom to don that comfy, soft sleep shirt. Slide under the covers and snuggle up to your significant other.
Click…click…hummmmmm…click…click…hummmmmmmm.
You have GOT to be kidding. Once again, the heater is throwing a temper tantrum. This is NOT the time for the heat to quit. It’s COLD out there.
Click…click…hummmmmm…click…click…hummmmmmmm.
Thirty minutes have passed. Still no heat. OK, my last house burned to the ground. There is NO way I can sleep with this thing acting this way. I attempt to wake the dead body sleeping in the bed next to me. I tell him I am going to turn off the heat because it is acting up. All I get is a mumbled, “OK”.
Heat is now turned off. Breaker is off. Run and jump back under the covers and hope it doesn’t get much colder. Ahh…sleep takes over.
Until morning. I hear the formerly dead body next to me slide out of bed and call the repair man. I wait. Snuggled under the covers and embracing the warmth under my sheet, comforter and heavy wolf blanket. I stick out a foot and immediately pull it back in. It is way to cold out there to attempt to rise this morning. I lay there, hoping that my loving husband will have turned on the oven or put some water on to boil in an attempt to take the ice off the walls.
I finally rise. Slide a sweatshirt over my nightshirt. Then don the sweat pants. Time for the woolly slippers. Hmmmm…still cold. Grab a robe and skate out to the kitchen to see if there is any warmth emanating from the stove. No such luck. The man who constantly calls me an Eskimo and complains about the cold is sitting in his chair, on the computer, with just a sweat shirt and flannel pants on. Perhaps the cold has deadened his ability to feel this cold that is seeping through my pores and turning my blood to slush.
Turn on the oven, open the oven door to allow the warmth to escape and wage war with the frigid air. I turn on the hot water and grab a pot to place on the stove. Even the water is having a hard time battling the arctic air. It finally warms and I fill the pot.
A sharp knock on the door, dog barking frantically….my savior is here. The repairman is bundled in a gigantic pair of coveralls. Mind you, this man would have to run around in the shower to get wet. In his present garb, he reminds me more of Mr. T. He turns everything back on and click…hummm….HEAT. I’ll be a SOB! He turns it off and on several times. Like a child caught misbehaving, the heater put on an angelic smile and purred like a kitten. With every hum, I could hear it mocking me and laughing at me. With nothing more to do, the repairman looked at me and told me to call him back if it quit again.
My children are grown and gone…so my heater has now taken up their cause. Much like making a doctor’s appointment for a sick child and watching them heal instantly as you pull into the parking lot of the office, my heater is a child. How many minutes will pass before it mocks me again with it’s click…click…hummmmmm…click…click…hummmmmmmm only to sing like a canary when the repairman gets here.
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LMAO Can picture the scenario and I am thinking , how cold is it really? 30 maybe if that, like I said your night temps are our day temps, however the heat is working round the clock here come on up young wolf and hibernate.