Skip to main content

Some Days Are Not Meant to be Enjoyed

Actually, today was just dandy. I was yesterday that I barely survived.

I woke up chilly. Not a good sign for a household that keeps the heat/air set to 70-degrees year round. I noticed that the upstairs thermostat was showing 65. I ventured downstairs, realizing that frost was beginning to form on my nose before I made it to the thermostat on the lower level. Okay, it was 60. But still. I turned off the furnace. I turned on the furnace. Nothing.

As luck would have it, Muh Main Man was out of town for the entire weekend. A mayday call to his cell phone confirmed that he was out of service in the North Country. I decided not to rise to the occasion and prove myself self-sufficient. I called the furnace guy. Thankfully he was over within the hour and the Lord heard my prayers. We do not need a new furnace. But apparently I do need have my furnace serviced and cleaned at least as often as I do my windows. Fortunately the part only cost $7 plus a weekend service call, but that I'll gladly pay to get the internal temperature back up to a respectable level.

We proceeded on with our day, arriving in the nick of time for Little Chic's final cheerleading exposition and my worship team practice. And then I succumbed to the pitiful begging of Little Chic and took her and Neighbor Girl ice skating. I've been ignoring the pleas all winter and it was getting to the point that my integrity was being questioned. For multiple delays in skating dates. Or something or other. In 90 minutes, I reminded myself why I detest winter sports. It has everything to do with numb toes and noses. I hate that, truly I do. I suppose the real problem is that more than being cold, I hate being bundled up. A pair of jeans and and a couple layers on top is about the limit of what I can stand. Which leads to being cold. And hating winter sports.

I did manage to console myself with a pedicure at The Wal-Mart and I have to say that I am pleased every time I glance down at my neon teal-colored toenails with the little flowers adorning them. I can admit that the 30 minutes of massage chair and foot soaking did help dim the trauma of the day. If not erase it altogether.

And so, begins a new week with a working furnace, a thawed out nose and attractive toenails. If I do say so myself.

Comments

Unknown said…
Oh for the light at the end of the tunnel! I'm gonna make you show your toes when we go out today!
Allana Martian said…
Was the pedicure worth it when you have to shove the pretties in boots when you go outside? I guess just knowing how they look makes it all better. :-)
Anonymous said…
WOW, how much does a pedicure cost at Walmart?????? Never thought of that!!

~Sue
Laurie said…
Hahahah! I have sooo GOT to get me one of those! But my feet are soooo ticklish that I'm would be a totally uncooperative giggling mess to work on. Sigh... but the thought is pure bliss!

Popular posts from this blog

Little Chic's New Do

I have been bugging Little Chic to cut her waist-length hair for a long time. She did take about 4 inches off it about two months ago, and ever since, has been toying with the idea of something drastic and cool. Today was the day! I love it, but it's a little sad too--seeing how it makes her look all mature and teenager-ish.

Stickin' It Out

I got married today. Well, not exactly today. It was Friday, June 2. But the year was 1989 - 17 years ago. "Amazing", people say. "Good for you", they comment. "You must have picked the right one", the add. Amazing? Yes. Good for me? I'll admit it. But it has nothing to do with picking the right one, really. It's not because I found the perfect boy, and it's certainly not because he found the perfect girl. It might sound a little unromantic, but there never really is a 'right one' floating around out there waiting in the cosmos for the other 'right one' to crash and connect. There may be 'better ones'; there may be 'more easily compatible' or something or other. But the real story is you start becoming the right one the moment you vow that "you do". When I married, I had been 20 for a whole 33 days, we had just completed a 2-year long-distance realtionship and HE was five years older tha

"Huncle" Dave

This guy's my uncle. He's 8 years older than me. With my dad being the oldest of 10 kids, my grandma still had kids at home by the time my dad was getting started with life. This guy was my hero when I was growing up--sort of the big brother role, but with a little more novelty than a constant bully and boss hanging around. He certainly did his share of bossing and bullying, but I took it all in stride since I thought he was an incredibly big deal. Since he was the youngest of 10 kids, but older than all the grandkids, he took full advantage and made the best of his position in life. One aspect of him being more 'mature and world-wise' was that he required treatment of proper respect and authority. Thus, I, and my cousins, were expected to boost his ego by calling him by his rightful name "Huncle". This classy moniker had the unique combination of the relationship (uncle) and his self-proclamation of him being a teenage 'hunk'. Since growing up,