I actually wrote this March 22, when it was still warm here, but for some reason it didn’t post.
Brian and I were waffling over whether to open the windows or turn on the air conditioning tonight. During the day, we usually choose the windows route, but at night the strange accoustics of our street funnel the neighborhood noise straight into our bedrooms. Plus, I can’t abide the clink of the blinds as the wind pushes through the window.
And so we debated–it is only 75 degrees in the house, Brian pointed out. I let him decide, and we ended up with the air turned on.
Seconds later, I realized–with horror–that it was only March 20! What kind of horrible precedent were we setting? My parents didn’t turn on their air conditioning until June when we were children! We stored our PJs in the fridge, or slept in our skivvies, draped with damp rags! What about our electric bill?!
And so I ran to the thermostat to set things right with the world.
Brian cracked his door and raised an eyebrow at my exclamations that it was only March and we couldn’t possibly use the AC yet.
“1. I reject your mathematical basis for turning off the AC. 2. I don’t know what you’re on about, but I’ve been using it since January.”