If you had spent any significant time at my house this summer, here’s what you would’ve heard me say approximately 4,822 times:
“Oh my word I’m burning up.”
“Hold on – I’m gonna have to turn down the air down.”
“OH SWEET MERCY THIS HOUSE IS ON FIRE.”
But here’s the thing: our house really isn’t hot. We’re surrounded by lots of very tall trees, and thanks to the way the sun moves across our roofline, we rarely have direct sunlight pouring in through the windows. Most people could put our thermostat on 75 and be more than comfortable all summer long.
Ever since I turned 40, I am not what you would refer to as “most people” as far as air conditioning needs are concerned (well, truth be told, I have always been a little high maintenance in this area). And this summer, I’ve taken my AC neediness to staggering new heights. It was so bad in July that I made an appointment with my doctor and informed him that SOMETHING WAS TERRIBLY WRONG, but he checked some levels and numbers and whatnot and assured me that everything is perfectly normal and fine and good. I’m just dealing with hormones combined with some first-book stress (book stuff has been oh-so-fun, but my nerves have been cuckoo). And I’m sure my doctor said some other very wise and important things, but I was so busy fanning myself that I couldn’t really hear him.
David has been a good sport about my CAN WE PLEASE TURN DOWN THE AIR flare-ups, even when his teeth are starting to chatter and he’s bundled up in a blanket. He’s even been sympathetic to the fact that I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and feel completely certain that flames are in fact shooting out of the back of my head. However, I do think that there’s a little bit of fear and trepidation when I remind him that all of this hormone-related summertime fun is just beginning. We could have YEARS of it ahead of us, and I guess the only up side of that is that when the area around his chair freezes completely and encases him in an indoor igloo, I will be able to stand anywhere within a five-foot radius of him and melt all of that ice in less than forty seconds.
Seriously. If I touched that hypothetical igloo, it would sizzle.
Late this afternoon I was cooking supper, doing my best to stand near a vent while I chopped broccoli and sliced a couple of onions. I realized that David was home from work when I heard him shut the door of his truck, and right about the time that I looked down the hall toward the front door, he walked inside – holding a very tall box.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Well, I got you a surprise,” he said.
And as I made my way down the hallway and slowly realized what was inside that box, I grinned like crazy.
PLEASE LET ME TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT.
(I’m not really going to tell you all about it.)
(But look! It has features!)
BEST SURPRISE EVER.
I mean, I know that I loved it when we were in our 20s and 30s and D would occasionally send me a big ole floral arrangement, but honestly, who needs flowers (or even chocolate) when you can have A TOWER FAN WITH A REMOTE CONTROL?
That is some 40-something romance, people.
And my hormones and I have never been happier.