Seriously. Living in the Midwest, I always use the argument to our friends in warmer climates, "no, it's cool, I really like having different seasons". Let's be honest with each other, no I don't. Ok, Fall and Summer perhaps. Spring has it's moments. But winter? You're a damn dirty liar if you say you love winter. You're all hopped on sentimentality, with thoughts of a winter wonderland and chestnuts roasting on an open fire crippling your rational thought. I will not hesitate to body slam you into a snowbank until you admit your folly.
You know what sucks even more? When your heater breaks on the cusp of the season's most terrifying cold spell. That happened to us last weekend...for the second time in 3 years. Unacceptable. We noticed it on Saturday afternoon and it wasn't fixed until Sunday night. Saturday wasn't too bad, for me at least, since I had the adrenaline of another Arizona Cardinals playoff victory coursing through my veins (along with a little rum). Katy, lacking said adrenaline, was not as happy.
Sunday was quite a bit nipplier, with much of the day spent huddled in bed under 5 extra layers of blankets, drinking coffee and crying frozen tears. I offered to take my shirt off to heat things up a little bit, but I was quickly overruled. We watched On Demand episodes of Hell's Kitchen and Rock of Love Bus. We contemplated on the nature of Bret Michael's hair and his rather shocking weight gain. We ordered in gyros for dinner. My idea to light the bed on fire for warmth was overruled. Finally at around 8pm, we heard our landlord downstairs and moments later, the heat kicked on. I celebrated by blasting the Kenny Loggins tune "The Heat is On", and soon the police were called and I was hauled away on one count of indecent exposure and another count of playing Kenny Loggins.
Now if I can just figure out a way to get to work without having to actually go outside.
*Cartoon courtesy of Toothpaste for Dinner.
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