You know that ABBA song from Momma Mia? “Money, Money, Money?” Well, at least Meryl Streep didn’t have to pay the heater fix-it guy triple digits for replacing a fuse. You see, on a magical Greek Isle, it’s 75 degrees year round. No heating bill, no AC. Just open windows for gentle cross breezes…aahhh. So really I don’t know what all her griping was about.
Last night, as we settled into bed, I noticed the sheets were entirely too cold. This morning the kids ate breakfast wrapped in their comforters. After the big kids went to school, the little boys and I huddled around my hair dryer in the bathroom. The heater was definitely broken. I had to clean our little igloo with my parka on. After consulting the manual and fiddling with the four foot contraption all morning, I raised the white flag. I broke down and called the repairman. We were two degrees away from seeing our breath.
It’s fixed now, but I’m embarrassed to tell you what the bill came to. Mostly because the guy said the diamond studded fuse burned out as a result of not cleaning the air filter regularly enough. (Okay, so the fuse is not diamond studded, but you would think so for what he charged!) Ooops. Who knew? You see, I was born and raised in a similar paradise as the magical isle we were just talking about. I know nothing of heaters and filters and thermostats. All I know is my salty cross breeze that used to come out of my open window has turned into an icy draft.
I once asked my father-in-law why he and his young bride left California’s coast in the late 60’s for a much colder climate. His response: “The cold keeps the weirdos out.” Maybe California’s weirdos per capita ratio is a tad high, but at least they get to draw that line in the sand and not in the frigid grey slush.