Wendi, did you turn up the heat again?
The heat in the house.
Yes, our house.
I’m going to say “no”?
Then how did it get up to 74? I had it set for 68.
Maybe the thermostat’s broken.
It’s not broken.
Maybe there was a power outage.
There wasn’t a power outage.
Maybe you did it in your sleep. You don’t know.
Seriously? You’re trying that one again?
Okay, maybe Jack did it.
Jack’s mystified by the toaster.
Then I give up. It’s a complete mystery. I totally think you should call the power company and demand to speak to a heat supervisor. Use your Stallone voice. Not your Steve Harvey voice–that one’s really creepy and not as authoritative as you’d think.
Or maybe you could just man up and tell me you did it. You turned up the heat.
What? Why would I turn up the heat? I LOVE being frozen to the bone all day long! I love wearing so many layers that it’d take an archeologist with a pick axe to reach my underwear! I love that I don’t need to use potholders when I take pans out of the oven! I love that showering in our bathroom is like camping and my toothpaste has little, frozen chunks in it! Why, it’s just glorious to spend my days Swiffering in 69 degrees! Glorious, I tell you!
So when I left the house this morning, that wasn’t you I heard blasting 80’s hip-hop music and screaming, “Take off your pants, boys, cause mama’s turnin’ this joint into a Jamaican heat wave and we’s about to SWEAT IT ’til WE FORGET IT, yo!”?
Nope, not me.
And that means it probably wasn’t you who was also heard bragging at the PTO meeting that your heating vents are so hot you use them for weenie roasts and the occasional glass blowing?
Of course not.
That’s good. Because you know where the money to keep the house at 75 degrees comes from?
No. No, no, no. It comes out of your wine and movie popcorn budget.
(long pause) Throwing down my gauntlet. You win.
Thank you. Where are you going?
To put on another sweater. I think it’s going to be a really cold winter.
You have no idea.