Hot Hot Heat

“Val, at this exact moment, I might love you more than my fiance!”
– C.  (Don’t worry, J., I didn’t mean it)

Thank.  Gosh.
Thank. Gosh.

I have heating!  Venice’s husband got it up and working last night when I showed up on their doorstep (two doors down from my own) asking pitifully, “I picked up dinner, but can I please eat it here because my place is freezing!”  Val, wonderful guy that he is, grabbed my keys and was off to sort out the problem and by the time I’d finished dinner and dragged Venice back to look at our place (much improved since J. had put furniture together that day and I’d unpacked and sorted a lot of stuff) the temperature had risen significantly.  Thank gosh because the night before last I had to put on leggings, followed by my flannel pajama pants, followed by a thermal shirt, followed by doubled blankets before I could feel the heat stop escaping.  And I like the cold!  But when there is no discernible difference between one’s apartment and the below freezing temperature, I draw a line!

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