I estimate that I moved to Arizona when I was about three or four years old. Since I am now almost 35, that means I've pretty much lived here my entire life. The thing about living in the Phoenix area is that it is HOT in the summer. I'm not talking sissy hot like when you go other places and people whine that it's 90 degrees. I'm talking several consecutive months of temperatures over 100 degrees, and many, many days over 110. 115 is not unusual number to see on the forecast at all.
This doesn't mean that I like it. In fact, I loathe it.
I'm one of those people who is hot all the time. Come winter, I rarely wear a coat. I have a lightweight blazer that I'll grab on the colder days, but a real coat only comes out on maybe three or four nights a year. I tend to opt for cardigans mostly. I wear flip flops all winter too. Heck, in high school I used to make my mom so mad because I'd wear shorts all winter. I just don't get that cold!
Now my husband, he moved here roughly 14 years ago. He's from Seattle, where it does actually get cold. I remember the first time we went up there or Christmas I thought I might die from the cold, because it was something I was not used to experiencing. He took great joy in mocking me and my wool coat and giant scarves and constantly chattering teeth. This girl from the desert was in SHOCK, I tell ya! Heck, the Christmas we spent in NYC wasn't even that cold! I carried my jacket around in my arms then!
The thing is, as cavalier as he is about the cold in Seattle, here at home he acts like he's freezing all of the time. I don't get it! Seriously - there was a night a few weeks ago where I was so hot I could not sleep. I was in my underwear, with a sheet draped only over my shoulders, the ceiling fan on, and an oscillating fan pointed right at me. I look over at my husband (who is sound asleep, natch) and he's wearing flannel pj pants, a long sleeved tee shirt, a zipped fleece hoodie, and also has the down comforter pulled all the way up to his chin.
The fact that I'm about a million months pregnant doesn't help matters either. Yes, we have central air, but during the hottest part of the day it does struggle a bit. There's also the pesky matter of that sky high utility bill during the summer months. The best weapon in my arsenal to keep cool, besides wearing as little clothes as possible (sorry for that visual) is to run the ceiling fans. You can change the direction they blow to make the most of them depending on the season, and they make your home more energy efficient and therefore lowering your electric bill somewhat. The ceiling fan in our living room is particularly impressive. I've never experienced one that works as well as this one to keep the place cool.
That is, when it's on.
My dang cold blooded husband likes to turn off the fan when I'm not looking. I wouldn't mind this so much, but the problem is that he won't turn it back on again. This means he leaves for work, and by the time I get out of bed, I wake up to a VERY hot house. I don't like being hot. It makes me cranky. He knows this.
So, I asked him to PLEASE be sure to turn on the fan before he leaves for work so I don't have to wake up cranky. He swore he would.
So I asked again, maybe not so nicely this time. He apologized and SWORE he would turn on the fan before he left for work. The next morning I woke up and you guessed it - the fan was off. There was, however, a sticky note at eye level on the garage door that said FAN in bold black letters. Apparently the man wrote himself a note on a can't miss it bright yellow sticky note, put it at eye level in a spot where he KNEW he couldn't possibly miss it as he exits the house through that door every day...
and he missed it.
And he missed it for the next three days too.
Finally, I took action.
No way he could miss a note right over the freaking switch, right? Since he couldn't be relied on to turn the fan back on, he just wouldn't be allowed to turn it off. End of story. Well, he laughed when he saw this, and it actually worked for about a week. Well, except for the night he thought he was clever and left the fan on but TURNED THE FLIPPING AC OFF. I could have killed the man. You just don't do that to a million month pregnant woman who is already hot all the time, in Phoenix, in June. Sheesh. But other than that, this looked like the solution.
But the last two days? I woke up to a hot house and a still ceiling fan again. CRAP!!! What on Earth can I do to get the message across to him that he is cooking me alive every morning? Have someone undo the wiring in the switch so it doesn't work anymore? He'd probably just climb a ladder to turn it off at the source.
Before anyone starts thinking I'm unsympathetic to his being cold, I'll let you know that it's usually between 75 and 80 degrees in there. That is NOT cold! He grew up in a place where people start to whine that it's hot at 80 degrees. Also, it's easier for him to put on more clothes than it is for me to take off more layers. I mean, there's not much you can do once you've stripped down to your drawers, right?
So what do I do? How do I win the Ceiling Fan Wars? Suggestions anyone?
Labels: about me, finn, husband