The 2009 Furnace War has finally become serious, since a couple weeks ago when the MD winter decided to stop being completely wimpy. I’m nowhere near having to break the ice in the toilet (I doubt that could actually happen south of the Mason/Dixon), but I’m to the point that I find myself implementing careful strategies to fend off misery.
For example, my kitchen is remarkably clean, because doing the dishes is an excellent excuse to get my chilly hands under warm water for a while. Accessories have become important – for the first time in my life, I always know where my slippers are, and it’s not unusual to see one of us wearing fingerless gloves, a cowl, or a hat indoors. Blankets have become legitimate clothing – I wear a smaller fleece one around my waist like a towel, whereas Jared wraps himself up in the big woolen plaid that his parents brought back from Scotland, looking for all the world like my stereotypical mental images of a Native American tribal chief at a winter pow-wow. Our latest thing, begun this morning, is making tea first thing after we wake up and then carrying the mug from room to room as we get ready for the day to keep the hands & innards warm.
Mornings are the worst. Somehow I have to convince myself that it’s worth my while to leave the cozy haven of multiple comforters, where my insulated body heat has created a cocoon that I have no desire to emerge from until I spontaneously grow an exoskeleton of felted wool. It would probably work to drink a lot of water in the middle of the night, thus using my bladder as a hard argument to disagree with (though you’d be surprised how long you can hold it when you know just how cold that toilet seat is). Unfortunately, in the middle of the night the water by my bed is itself pretty chilled, making it hard to down long draughts of it without inducing hypothermia.
I’ve already almost caved, as Jared’s gotten a virus and is at home all day in our chilly apt. If you are coming to our holiday party this Sunday, don’t worry – I’ve got extensive plans to keep the house above an inhospitable 60 degrees, from baking right before you arrive to inviting enough of you to make use of your collective body heat. All the same, do bring a sweater. And maybe slippers.
Can you imagine how dumb I will feel if I find out that our only competition has already caved?