Dreaded Cold

October 28, 2013

50 something in the house and I am wrapped up in a scarf, fleece jacket with my wool hat down around my ears. The squirt who came to fix the furnace was pleasant enough, despite the ruckus from the dogs, scrambling to bite his ankles and scare the daylights out of him. He entered the house with one arm outstretched, the other handling a big box with gadgets to repair the stubborn heater. He glanced up long enough to shake my hand and look me in the eyes. Impressive behavior from such a youngster. Maybe he is older than he appears. His mouth was set in a thin line when he came up from the basement quite awhile later. Claims the part is “big and expensive” and he’ll have to talk with the home owner before moving ahead. I agree and we simultaneously text, call, email, facebook message then wait.

I am tough, I can take the cold, I declare, not wanting to seem like a wimp, facing a 32 degree with possible snow flurries tonight for my house and dog sitting gig. As my toes numb, I decide I am a wuss and need to call in the recruits to borrow a space heater to sleep in comfort. Taste-tested a Paul Newman’s pizza (thumbs up for the four cheese flavor) and snuggle with the little white bad-breath bed companion. It doesn’t help that she has a tinge of skunk odor from being shot at awhile ago during an excursion up north, I’m told. Oh well, I have slept with worse. Just saying.