He liked it and he put a ring on it. Unfortunately, his work keeps him away so I live the life of a single woman during the week. This has its pros and cons. Pro? I love time alone. Con? Sometimes things come up where it would just be easier if I could say to my man, "Babe, this is broke. Fix it." Such an occasion arose the other night when I turned the heat on and rather than warm air blowing out of the vents, I was getting a cool breeze. Which would be awesome if it was hot outside and I needed air conditioning but it just so happens to be a chilly winter month and I would have liked the warmth. But this is why God made blankets and heavy jammies so I sucked it up. Last night, though, it was like 60 degrees in the apartment and I decided to take matters into my own hands and relight the pilot in the heater. This was easier said than done as I have an ancient heater that resembles a jolly green giant. The dust surrounding it has to be years thick. So I followed the directions until it said "locate the pilot." Um... excuse me? There is no label saying "Pilot is here!" and there was no little hole like on the gas stove top. And you always hear these horror stories of gas explosions and what not so I didn't want to just wing it... but I did what the instruction panel said and followed the narrow metal tube from the doohickey to the thingamabob, stuck the lighter in there, sparked it and hoped for the best. Voila! A fiery inferno burst to life and I had heat that I rose from the ashes all by my lonesome. No help from Husband. No help from the Gas Co. No help from the landlord. Just me in my big girl pants.
MORAL OF THAT STORY: I am now the proud owner of an honorary penis.