War of the Thermostats

My husband is trying to kill me. At least that’s how it seems as there is no other logical explanation for what he is doing.

Last winter, we argued over the thermostat. I wanted it to be at 72 degrees (which is the commonly agreed-upon “perfect weather” temperature), but he thought it should be at 68. He cited John F. Kennedy and played the “environmental” card. I wanted to compromise at 70 but he wouldn’t have that either. So I finally succumbed to his precious 68 degrees. And then summer came, and our poorly insulated house got all warm. While he complained, I was finally comfortable.

But now it’s winter again. So I turned the heat on to 68 degrees. I thought he would be happy. Bare in mind that I am still cold at 68. I still have to wear slippers and a sweater and my hands are still like icicles. But I was willing to let it go. Once we started living in the basement (where this IS no heat, mind you), he took it further by declaring that the heater should be turned off at night. He said that it was primarily because of the noise the furnace made. The noise didn’t bother me and I’m a lighter sleeper than he is but I still let him do it.

And then one day this week he got some bug up his ass about how even 68 is still too hot and turned the thermostat down to 66. 66! What the shit is THAT? When it’s 66 degrees outside, people still wear long sleeves. Personally, I would also bring a light jacket. To go OUTSIDE. This is our home. We live indoors. It’s supposed to be cozy. But it’s not. It’s freezing. And then he goes off to work (where I DOUBT it’s 66 degrees) and I work from home in my ice-cold basement. I tried to reason with him about it last night. I thought I got through to him. But after spending half the day wondering why I couldn’t feel my toes, I checked the thermostat and found it, once again, at 66 degrees. Of course, I turned it up immediately. But I’m sure he’ll just turn it down again. I don’t want to live like a passive-aggressive TV couple. I want him to understand that 66 degrees is not reasonable. It’s easier for him to simply take off a layer than for me to bundle up, drink hot tea all day, and work under a blanket.

I don’t want to play the fetus card, but HELLO! Fetus! All of my blood is in my uterus right now. And my uterus gets bigger and bigger every goddamned day. I’m colder than I otherwise would be. 66 is not going to work for me. I think I’ve been very lenient on this. I have never gotten my way nor had any of my compromises accepted. Well, I’m done trying to compromise. It’s got to be 68. No lower. If not for me, than for the warmth-stealing fetus. Unless he really is trying to kill me. In which case, we have bigger problems.