temperature wars

While I hugged my husband, the Builder, yesterday, I told him that he’s hot. He agreed. Then he told me I’m cool. I thanked him, since I like being cool. Most of the time we are amicable over our differences, but there are times when we’re at war.

You would think that the battle over the thermostat setting in the house would have ended once winter was over. That used to be the case. That is, until we had an air conditioner installed. Now we can battle over temperature all year long.

In the winter, it’s called the Two-Degrees War. My husband likes the thermostat set to 69 degrees F, while I like it at 71. (We haven’t taken the time to figure out how to change the settings to Celsius, and we both feel confident operating in Imperial units.) I usually wear layers; my husband wears shorts.

With the air conditioner, it’s much worse. I like it off, while he likes it on. It’s all or nothing. I’ve been freezing since May. I can’t wait for winter so I can turn on the furnace.

Everyone in the family, not just the Builder, likes the A.C. on, to cool the house before bed. But if we all go to sleep with the windows closed, it actually remains warmer in the house and I wake up sweating in the middle of the night. I cannot, for the life of me, believe everyone else is sleeping perfectly comfortably. And I cannot accept that it’s the Big Change since I’m fine all day long.

For me, ventilation in a temperature-controlled house is a huge concern. Where are all the exhaust gasses going? They recirculate, that’s where. There is the exhaust fan in the kitchen, but that will only draw out so much air. And it takes power to run.

I was horrified when I saw our last power bill. We’d used enough power to run a Central American country. Running A.C. all summer isn’t all that it’s buzzed-up to be.

Before A.C., otherwise known as the time period BAC, there were really only about three intolerably hot summer days in Fort McMurray. We’d fill up the kiddy-pool and pull our lawn chairs close enough to dangle our feet into the cool water, under the shade of our massive birch tree, while sipping ice-cold beverages. Or we’d position a few fans strategically to cool ourselves. If sleep was impossible, we’d drag our mattress down to the basement family room.

I never thought I’d bemoan A.C.

I had a brilliant thought the other day. Instead of setting the A.C. on 69 degrees F, as was the norm, I set it on 71. The A.C. rarely comes on now. I open windows at night, then shut them before midday. I’ve succeeded in ending the strife of an all-or-nothing A.C. standoff and reverted to the much more subtle Two-Degrees War.

Compromise. It’s how marriage weathers the seasons. Since I can’t move time BAC, I need to be cool about it.