This past weekend we put our electric blanket on our bed. I should state for the record that, honestly, we really don’t need it. We don’t. We’ve done quite well these past few years without it.
This year is different. We have decided we MUST have total comfort 100% of the time we are in bed, and this includes the icy first seconds you climb in and repeatedly rub the sheets with your feet to warm up. Uh-huh. Not us. We’re too good for latent exercise.
Naturally, like the Borg, this will turn a laser beam of displeasure from the global warming watchdogs in our direction. But I first want to plead my case for the luxury. I cut corners in other ways. I only wash our clothes in cold water. I do hang our clothes from the curtain rods instead of running the dryer full-tilt (thus making our house look not unlike the dry-cleaners).I bathe the kids in only an inch of water, which I then recycle (well, I haven’t for these past few months, but I will again come spring!).
We haven’t used the blanket yet either, I should add. Last night to experiment with alternate methods of heating, I wore socks to bed. Now, in my entire life, I’ve avoided wearing socks to bed, because I’ve felt that if I’ve sunk that low, then all I need to complete the ensemble is a nightcap, bifocal glasses and a glass of water next to my bed for the false-teeth. No, one who sleeps nude (which I do) could not risk the embarrassment of donning socks. It would be akin to someone in a nudist camp wearing a swimming cap in a pool. I mean, what’s the point?
But do you know what? The socks worked. They were, in fact, amazing.
So now I’m left with a dilemma: put on the blanket for the undeniable coziness it brings, or keep my spartan sensibilities intact by pulling up my cotton high-tops?
What would you do?
