Frozen

Of the millions upon millions of things my wife loves about me--my grilled cheese making abilities, the huge hugs I give her, my mad NCAA Football 2005 skills, etc--perhaps the most important to our relationship is my body temperature.  I rarely get cold and--I've been told by multiple sources including an 80 year old woman on Christmas day--my body radiates heat.  This is excellent for Krishni because she is just the opposite: she gets cold with the slightest breeze and loves that she has a smelly radiator laying in bed next to her on cold mornings.  

My smokin' hot body has been especially important the last few days because our furnace is on the fritz.  

Oh, sure...our furnace is creating heat just fine.  It's just not, you know, blowing the heat through our duct work and into our apartment.  As a result, there has been more than a few mornings in our condo lately where our thermostat read "53 degrees".  I wish I was making that up.

Now, I love winter.  I really do.  It's not winter for me unless there is a foot of snow and it is quite rare to hear me complain about the cold.  

This post just happens to be one of those times.

53 degrees really doesn't sound that cold; heck, if it was 53 degrees on a March afternoon, you would probably find me cranking Green Day and driving with my windows down.  But 53 degrees in the "comfort" of your own home?  That is uncomfortable.  

As I type this, the temperature in our house is a balmy 58 degrees.  This I can handle.  I'm hanging on the couch in some sweatpants and a hoodie, watching the Bulls game and eating some deep dish pizza from Gino's East.  And tonight, I'll crawl into bed next to my wife, make sure the space heater that's been blowing for the last 3 days is turned to "lava" and pull 3 blankets up over my chest.  

All of the above is livable.  You know what sucks though?  My shower in the morning.

Those of you that have been to my place know that Krishni and I have separate bathrooms.  Really, separate bathrooms is the secret to a great marriage.  Unfortunately, the "Mens Room" is outside of our protected space heater area.  This means I have to crawl out of bed tomorrow morning at 7, walk into my bathroom which, by the way, has a 5 foot tall window two feet from the shower head, take off all of my clothes and desperately try and keep my fat ass covered by hot water in a shower that can only be described as "igloo-like".  Seriously...while the rest of my house is in the 50s, I have to believe that the temperature in my bathroom--due in part to the enormous picture window of tempered glass inconveniently placed IN the shower--is in the 40s. 

Mornings this week have been awful.  AWFUL. 

Never fear; our favorite handyman is finally getting out here Thursday morning to (hopefully) fix the issue.  However, if we can't get this issue licked, I'm seriously considering moving back to Oklahoma.  

Just kidding!  I'd rather live in Antarctica North on Paulina Street then move back to that shithole.