The first thing I thought when I woke up was, “It’s freezing.”
Actually, the first thing I thought was, “Man I wish I could sleep in until noon.” But that’s just not in the cards when you have children.
I stumbled down the stairs with my kids at my heels. It seemed to get even colder. I could hear the whirl of the window air conditioner that we have and knew my answer: my husband had turned it all the way up.
Apparently we have different body temperature desires. Tom says that he has to crank the air conditioner all the way up or else he’s too hot. I prefer to have it at a 4 or 5 and Tom whines that the thing might as well not even be on because he can barely feel the cold air.
I think he forgets that we’re not in Texas anymore. The highs this week in Wyoming have only been in the 80s.
“Morning!” Tom said jovially from the couch.
I walked over to the air conditioner and turned it to a 4. “Morning,” I replied.
“Hey! Why did you turn that down?” Tom shouted, rushing over. He immediately turned it back up.
Maybe something is wrong with his body. Maybe he can’t feel the cold. They could make a movie on Lifetime about him and it could be titled The Man Who Couldn’t Freeze and it would be a tale about a man who has to learn to FEEL again. Of course a beautiful blond helps him achieve this.
I certainly could feel the cold though. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.
“It’s too cold,” I complained.
“It feels great!” Tom responded.
Seriously. Something is wrong with him.
I was about to argue but then I heard a soft knock at the door. Huh? It was nearly nine. Much too early for company. I figured it was one of Tommy’s annoying friends who haven’t learned the concept of appropriate visiting hours. But no. When I opened the door one of our neighbors was standing there looking sheepish.
“I’m sorry to bother you so early,” he said. “But my wife is making a cake and she’s short one egg. She’s freaking out and...” he trailed off, looking petrified. I imagine that he probably ate an egg and forgot to let his wife know so when she started to cook and discovered she was short an egg she probably lashed out at him.
“We have an egg,” I said even though I wasn’t positive if we did or not. But I have this compulsion to please people so I sometimes spit out the answer that they want to hear before thinking things through.
I rushed in the kitchen and opened the fridge. Whew. There was an entire carton of eggs on the top shelf. I must’ve picked them up last week. Wait. DID I pick them up last week? I had to take both kids shopping with me and usually when that happens the trip becomes foggy in my mind because I spend most of the time going, “Please sit down. No, we don’t need dog biscuits. Please don’t throw kiwis at Mommy…”
I checked the expiration date to be sure. July 30th. Awesome. I just didn’t want to be known as the neighbor who passes out rotten eggs, you see.
I handed over the egg to the neighbor and he thanked me profusely before rushing off.
Then I marched over to the air conditioner and turned it down because Tom was....wait, where did Tom go?
“Hi,” Tom said, coming out of the bathroom.
Oh. He was enjoying a PIP (poop in peace.) That must be nice to do without children watching you and asking if you’re making a number one or two.
“Did you answer the door like that?” He gestured to my chest and I thought he meant did I answer the door while in my pajamas at first. It’s not like they were slinky pajamas or anything. They’re pink bottoms and a matching top that says, “Housework is evil. It must be stopped.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I can see your nipples through your shirt!” Tom said in this shocked tone.
Okay. So my headlights were up when I talked to the male neighbor. But I don’t think he even noticed. All he was worried about was the egg so he could shut his wife up.
“Maybe if you didn’t keep the house so COLD…” I gave him a dirty look.
“It’s not too cold. It feels great,” Tom said. He passed by the air conditioner and looked down with a start. “Wait a minute. Did you lower this?”
“It must’ve been Natalie,” I lied. Natalie, who was busy playing with her blocks, looked up with a start. I thought she’d blow my cover but she just went back to building. Phew.
“Oh,” Tom said and turned it back up again.
Dang. I was just starting to feel comfortable again.
When Tom went into the garage I lowered it again. Ahhh. Relief. I no longer felt like I was in Antarctica.
I enjoyed the comfortable temperature until Tom came back in.
“Hey!” he said when he saw the air conditioner. What, is he in LOVE with it or something? Why does he always have to check it? “It’s lowered again!”
“Those darn kids!” I said lightly as I flipped through my Writer’s Digest magazine.
I tried to lower it again when I thought he was distracted by Spongebob. My fingers were right over the knob when…
Tom’s voice rang out and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Honestly, does he have to be so LOUD?
“I know you were the one turning it down,” Tom said acting as though he were a detective who just solved an important mystery.
“It’s cold,” I said. “I can see my breath!” Okay, so not really. But it felt like it.
“Fine. I’ll move it down to an 8,” Tom said grandly as though he was doing me an important favor. (It goes up to a 10 by the way.)
“A six,” I bartered.
“A SIX?” Tom squeaked and looked at me as though I had just performed the Can-Can in front of him.
“A six,” I repeated firmly.
“A seven. Final offer,” Tom said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving me his stubborn look.
I had things to do so I gave in. But when my husband went outside to water the lawn I went back to the air conditioner and lowered it back to a six.
“A six,” I said softly and giggled before rushing to the dishes.