I've mentioned many times that I hate winter. Cold weather makes me want to hibernate like a bear does. I can sleep at the drop of a hat, mostly because the Beast doesn't warm the house up enough. I have no idea why but that's just the Beast. He will layer on clothes to wear in the house and he thinks that works for everyone. It's fine for him since he owns all kinds of winter wear but, having lost the weight that I have, most of my clothes just don't fit me. Since he is an impulse buyer, he's pretty much spent everything we have to clothe himself so I just don't feel like we have the resources any more for ME to indulge myself the same way.
So, I get on my warmest jammies, put socks on and crawl under the covers. I am usually in my recliner since I can crank up the heaters in my computer room to warm up the room. I sleep until the warmth wakes me. What pisses me off is the Beast will open my door, feel the warmth then come into my room while I am asleep and turn down both the little heater on my desk and the baseboard heater. The resulting cold will wake me up and I know immediately what has happened. I cannot get him to leave them alone so it means getting up and turning them both up again.
I'll admit that 70 isn't warm enough for me. I like it around 76 degrees and the Beast will tell me that is *too warm*. Well, to someone with a sheepskin lined shirt on and heavy winter hunting jeans, I'm sure it feels that way. Buy me a couple pair of sweats and maybe I will agree with you. Sheesh. When I mention that I don't have the warm clothes that he's bought himself, he says nothing. He doesn't exactly endear himself to me when he gets so very selfish and knows that I can't buy them because he's bought yet another do-dad or other because he thinks he just *has to have it*. TV advertising is his weakness. I keep waiting for those induction cooktops to show up here. He's already told me he thinks they are *neat*.
Chewlee showed up here yesterday after school. She told me the bus driver (a new one) couldn't find her house and they had a new girl on the bus, too. What that had to do with it, I have no idea. He had about six kids to drop off here in our little corner of the world so he found US. I called the Princess right away but she had already called the Beast. I hadn't answered my phone because I wasn't warm enough to get up (the Beast had entered my sanctuary and turned the heat down once again) and felt I could check it later. I realized that the Princess had either seen the bus pass or else she missed Chewlee's normal drop-off time and wanted us to watch for her.
When the Beast was ready to take her home, she said, *I'm not ready. I don't get to see my grandma much so I don't want to leave yet.* I finally had to make her put her jacket on, finish up her milk and let Grandpa take her home after a big hug. She wasn't happy but she went. I know it's going to be a long time before she doesn't miss coming here after school. **Sigh**
The Princess found out today that *it's a boy!* so she and Johnnycakes are happy about that. Poor Chewlee has known it all along but to have it verified is going to make her unhappy. She really wanted a little sister.
The Beast was up all night with a toothache that was causing shooting pains up his cheek and into his eye. I made him look up a dentist and he finally did and made an appointment for today at 1:30pm. He's showering now and still complaining. I have both upper and lower dentures for reasons I won't mention now but I do remember how awful toothaches were. I feel for him but I do get tired of his constant complaining. The man just has NO idea that his whining and refusing to take anything for the pain can really get to me. I don't say anything because who else can he complain to? His buddy, Dennis, has regular dental care and was shocked the Beast didn't. So the Beast wouldn't say anything to him. It's a man thing, I guess. LOL!
Well, I'm going to post this. I'll make up for this late post with my post for tonight (tomorrow's). Sorry. Love you all. Keep warm. **Hugs**
No comments:
Post a Comment