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Cold Like My Heart

Last night Sheba and I came home to a chilly apartment. At first I didn't notice anything amiss, because I immediately flew into a flurry of sweeping and mopping. Before you allow yourself to be dazzled by my dedication to next to godliness, let me add the disclaimer that 400 square feet only takes about 10 minutes to tidy up, before the next wave of hair, fur, and dust comes along. Anyway, I finished up, teeth-fully and facially hygiene-icated, and plumped myself into bed.

Then I realized it was cold. Like my heart. I checked and it was 56°F (13°C) inside my apartment! I cranked the thermostat to 70°, but couldn't hear the pinging sounds of my baseboard heater working. I shoved my bed aside and peered at the poptop control valve, which looks like a little box with a skinny lever poking out. I fiddled with the lever a bit and accidentally lifted the top of the box off, exposing the thingybob inside, you know, the doohickey connected to the pipes. It was warm. So why wasn't it heating my apartment?

I texted my predicament to Boyfriend, who offered to come pick me up. But as a modern independent woman, I had to take a stand. No chill will drive me from my home! So I put on my comfy socks stolen acquired from a friend's hospital stay, and my stylin' North Face running hat, and settled down to outfight the cold with my body heat. And of course there's my Super Sikrot Weapon:

BAM! Take that, lack of heat! I have my own personal space heater, and it's the size of a breadbox and responds to visual cues!

But Sheba alone is not my Super Sikrot Weapon. No, it is the combination of her microJoules of energy, my Tempur-Pedic® bed, which as we all know is really alien technology, and my Comforter of Friendship, bequeathed unto me after grad school. (Hmm, it's been that long? I should probably wash it...)

Anyway, when these three become one, they utterly destroy the second law of thermodynamics, which states that heat cannot spontaneously flow from a cold location to a hotter location. So instead of poor me miserably and unwillingly losing heat like a frying pan left to cool on a stove top, my Super Sikrot Weapon sucked in all the heat in the room to power my deep slumber, also known as the sleep of the innocent.

I called my apartment manager this morning and was assured that they'll look into it because it's probably a building problem. In the meantime, if you would like to rent the mobile component of my heat Weapon (pictured above), she is available during the daytime and only costs a can of high-end cat food! Due to neutering, I only have one in my supply, but I'll get on the waiting list for a cloning program and perhaps you too can have your very own Sikrot Weapon! Bed and comforter not included.

I'm so moving out this year. First the laundry machine is dead for three weeks, now this... (grumble, grumble)

Happy Monday!

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