by Annette Dashofy
Tomorrow is my birthday. Yeah, yeah. Big whoop-tee-doo. How old will I be? Let’s just say I’ll be as close to 50 as possible without BEING 50. In other words, I’ll be 49.
What a blah kind of birthday. Now, NEXT year, look out. Those round numbers somehow elicit a huge demand for celebration. And heckling. But the years BEFORE the round numbers get no respect. And very little attention. Frankly, I’m fine with that. In fact, I’m considering cancelling all future birthdays. Really. Who needs ‘em.
In case you’re wondering what I’m getting for my birthday (yeah, I know you really don’t care), I’m getting a heat pump installed in my house.
Okay, we were getting it anyway. Hubby was rather grateful that I let him off the proverbial hook, since we will have no money once we pay for the thing. The way I figure it, a woman pushing fifty has certain needs in life. Central air conditioning is one of them.
The two dinky little window units we’ve been using are fine. As long as you happen to be in either the bedroom or my office, which is where they are located. But the rest of the house resembles a sauna. Plus, I can’t stand the rumble, rattle, and hum of the window unit when I’m trying to sleep. So we shut everything down and throw open the windows before bedtime. Within an hour, the humidity has crept in and I can’t sleep anyway.
I think a heat pump with central air is a terrific birthday present. I don’t need anything else.
Plus we went away for a few days over the Fourth of July and had to leave my cat at home. I closed all the blinds and curtains and prayed for cloudy weather. Goodness knows we’ve had enough of it lately. But of course, the sun came out, the inside temperature soared above 80, and poor Skye was one cranky little cat by the time we walked through the door. As soon as I fired up the a/c units and the house cooled off, she bounced back to her usual happy, if psycho, self.
The next time we take off for a few days, we’ll have our new air conditioning up and running, so the furry one will be cool and comfy, too.
Of course, Hubby isn’t even slightly concerned with the cat’s comfort. He’s concerned with his bank account. We currently have a twenty-five year old oil furnace. The first year we had it, we paid 67 cents per gallon for oil in the summertime. Because we only had one tank, we ran out mid winter and had to pay close to 90 cents per gallon to refill it. By the next year, we had a second tank so that wouldn’t happen again. We would wait until June or July when the oil prices dropped to their lowest to order our winter supply. For years, we never paid over a dollar a gallon. Last year, we paid over two dollars a gallon. This year, it’s well over four. And climbing. So the decision to replace the aging oil furnace NOW and use our winter fuel stash as part of the down payment seems like a no-brainer. If anything, we should have done it sooner. Like for my forty-seventh birthday.
So bring on 49! Bring on 50! Hit me with your best hot flash. I will be languishing in my air conditioned glory. Happy Birthday to me!