Every summer, Sam and I play Air-Conditioning Wars. It goes like this:
Sam says something innocuous like, “It’s hot outside.” I say, “Well, we’re not turning on the A/C.”
Sam says, “It’s hard to sleep when it’s hot outside.” I say, “Sleep without a blanket.”
I go away for the weekend. He turns on the A/C.
I come home and turn off the A/C. I open the windows as early as I can in the morning and turn on the fans to suck in all the cold air. As the house begins to heat, I run around closing windows and shades if the sun in shining in. (This routine is surprisingly effective as long as it’s not over 90 degrees every day.) If Sam insists he can’t sleep, I hang the clothes on the line and say he can’t have both soft underwear and A/C.
I’m really a stingy person at heart, and when we turn on the A/C I can hear the money being sucked into the giant compressor and shredded. This year, I even have proof of what a money pit the A/C is, because I can monitor our electricity use and production in real time. (Don’t think I wasn’t doing this from New Jersey while I was gone.)
My clothes line killed itself last week: just pitched itself off the patio into the lawn and fractured its arm. Like horses, clothes lines have to be retired if they break their arms. I would have taken this as a SIGN [and Sam would have been happy for me to interpret it that way] except that then the A/C STOPPED WORKING TOO.
Now we have soft laundry, courtesy of my clothes dryer that sucks up my money and shreds it, and an 85 degree house. Thank goodness our house guests live in the Philippines and weren’t actually that impressed by 85 degrees with 5% humidity.
But there’s hope on the horizon. My new clothes line arrived today (just as my load of laundry was spinning in the washer) and fit into my old pole’s bucket o’ concrete. And we have a call in to the HVAC guy. Maybe soon Sam can go back to sleeping in a cool room and having soft underwear.