And, so it begins.

A few days ago, the weather turned colder. This is the time of year when I dread walking outside because the wind bites, the sky is gray and we have two enormous trees that make one, big mess. You have never seen a run on lawn bags, until you’ve see us hit the hardware store.

Things inside the house aren’t much better. That biting wind? That’s the same thing that comes out of my husband’s mouth when he sees I’ve changed the thermostat again.

This morning, amid the sound of my son’s chattering teeth, I saw that my husband had set the heat at 65F. See how I put that “F” there? That’s for mah Canadian peeps. Holla! Oh, sorry. Holla, eh?

Now, if we lived in Canada, maybe 65F would be a heat wave, but here in Ohio I was just getting used to the 90F, August days, with humidity so high you could boil pasta, when September came along with her…fall weather. Shudder.

After I saw the thermostat setting, I did what any good wife would do; I turned up the heat behind my husband’s back and hoped he wouldn’t notice. That lasted…oh, about an hour, and 45 of those 60 minutes we weren’t even home.

Last night, after I protested, I got him to crank that baby to 67F. Then, I donned a short-sleeved shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, socks, pants, a heavy sweatshirt and a blanket.  I was finally comfortable.

That is, until my husband brought me a glass of his homemade wine. I took three sips and I started sweating. Clearly, I have found the solution to lower heating bills.

Drink more wine.

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