UPDATED November 14th, 2017
I’m a big girl and I live in Southern California, so I don’t get cold too often.
I welcome the chilly temps. I embrace the cool, brisk air. I like when it gets “nippy’ outside.
That said, I see little to no reason why we need to turn on the heater. Now, don’t get me wrong—I love me a good space heater. And I can’t hate on the occasional hot air blasting on your back right as you step out of the shower on a frigid morning (we have hardwood floors too, so it’s like walking on ice). But too much of a good thing is just not a good thing.
Case in point. This morning I woke up with a start, a layer of sweat glistening on my face. I peeked over at the nightstand and it read 4:41. My cheeks were flushed and to be totally honest, I felt a twinge of “the crazy”.
A heater that’s been blasting all night will do that to a budget-conscious fat girl.
Read Related: The Nightly Talk: The Most Important 15 Minutes of a Marriage
I look over at my husband who was snoring peacefully—and he’s so handsome when he’s asleep—but I had to resist the urge to smother him with my pillow in the name of Jesus. This is what we do, ya’ll. It’s called Thermostat Wars and as of today, he’s winning.
You see, I grew up in a house where my mother never turned the heater on. It’s like a morgue in there. She is in her 60’s now and she’s finally softened up enough to turn it on every so often. Dealing with a cold house is normal to me. It just means you suit up—sweats, a hoodie, socks and slippers. If you’re watching TV, then cuddle with a blanket. It’s really not that complicated. Whenever I observe my husband running to put the heater on, he is usually barefoot, in his boxers, or he’s coming in from working out in the garage and he’s as cold as a popsicle. Well, no wonder you are freezing your nuggets off, you silly man!
Read the full article on Pearmama.
