brunobaby

The temperatures are expected to get into the single digits at night this week, which means it's time for the Annual Furnace Break-Down in my building. This time, it sends up heat for five minutes every five hours, and the cold water shuts down indiscriminately, or when you're in the shower and/or getting ready for work.

The Super keeps saying that he called "the man." The man claims never to have been called. Perhaps the super was simply, like Lou Reed, "Waiting For the Man."

Meanwhile, I gave in and bought an electric space heater. We never had them when I was a kid because my parents deemed them "too dangerous." My only experience with one was when I was first out of school and sharing an apartment. My roommate was spending the night at her boyfriend's and let me borrow her space heater. As I got dressed the next morning, I had this brilliant idea that I'd stay really, really warm if I draped my underwear over the heater before I put it on. My favorite brassiere disintegrated instantaneously.

This time, I got the little contraption pictured above, which comes with a little safety booklet that I read obediently before I turned the thing on. Within five minutes, it made the room toasty warm and comfortable for the first time in days. That, and the big pot of stew I put on the stove.

So here I sit, huddled by the fire: Primitive Woman. And when my Con Ed bill comes in, I'm sending it to The Man.