The Scene of the Fog

Waking up at 6 am is pure torture, especially since we have yet to switch on the heat. I swear it dips below 60 degrees in this place as we sleep. But we're not ready to start paying what we've heard are going to be astronomical heating bills, and it's supposed to warm up again, so we're sticking it out. Because we're tough. So we're tolerating the cold. I get home and don sweatshirts and pajama pants and wrap in a huge down-filled blanket. And get into bed. And then I'm totally comfy!

It's not like I'm not used to it - my dad kept the house at 65 degrees all winter. Throughout MICHIGAN winters, people. It was COLD. "Dad, I'm cold!" and "Dad, I can't feel my toes!" were always met with the same response, "Put on a sweater, honey!" Whenever the heat did come on - once in a blue moon - my brother and I would grab blankets or towels or our parents' long robes and fight over who got to stand over the "good" heat register. The bad one was halfway covered by the couch, therefore robbing you of precious heat. We would trap all of that warm air in our blanket togas and get all toasty warm. Seriously, my dad would turn up the heat whenever we asked - which was constantly. But if we touched that thermostat without permission... You'd think the steam coming out of his ears would have warmed the house...

Anyway, it was so cold this morning that it GOT FOGGY when the steam from the shower reacted with the frigid air. It was like my own little science experiment in there. Granted, I was a little worried before I figured out what was happening - I definitely had a "what the hell?" moment.

And then it comes to the worst part of the morning - turning off the shower and counting the seconds until you turn into an ice cube. Most of the time it takes a good thirty seconds for the cold to catch up with you. This morning, it only took four. I've never dried off so quickly!

The scene of the fog...