Last week, the answer would have been easy. The gorgeous sunny weather, the fall colors, the falling gas prices, and did I mention the gorgeous sunny weather?
Last week, perfect strangers congratulated each other on the weather as if they were personally responsible. We were practically hi-fiving each other at Lowe's. Mowing, which was our favorite topic of conversation over the summer, has given way to heating. "Have you turned on your heat yet?" they ask me, in a kind but patronizing way, sure that I, coming as I do from California, have had it blasting since August.
Well, what they don't know is, I was born in this proud State, way back when we heated with dinosaur poop in our E-Z-Bake Ovens, and what's more, I have wool underwear, which the crafty Italians invented to keep their digestive systems in tip-top shape.
So I too am a participant in the statewide game of Heating Chicken.
The rules are very simple. The last to turn on the heat, wins. They have a plot at the cemetery all ready for this year's heroic Heating Chicken Champion.
I should say, "I was a participant," in the past tense, because, after eco-friendly notions of heating my home entirely with the body heat of dogs (I figured that 40 or 50 St. Bernards should do it), I gave up last night and turned it on full blast, thinking of my mom who backed out of the Heating Chicken competition early with the immortal words "the heck with this!"
Ok, my pride had to go to the wall, but losing at Heating Chicken has certain advantages. One, I may live to see 42. Two, I once again have something to talk to my neighbors about: the scandalous cost of heating!
About Me
- Cassandra
- Cassandra was a figure of Greek lore, or something like that, who was double-cursed by somebody who was really mad at her. One, she could only tell the truth. Two, she would never be believed.