In an effort to have greater empathy for the suffering unemployed in America, I have turned my thermostats down to 50 degrees. The four older kids huddled in one bedroom with an electric heater, and the little ones snuggled in my bed with the electric blanket cranked on high. We're cold, but our hearts are warmed with fraternal love.
OK, apparently, we're out of heating oil.
I thought the company said they would return automatically and fill us up when needed, but I guess not. Of course, one never discovers things like this at a reasonable hour, say, noon. Nope. Bedtime is a better time, right?
I sure hope they'll be able to make my delivery before lunchtime. Solidarity has its limits.
**Update: After bottoming out around 51 degrees, we're on the way up.
Heating Oil Delivery Man: Wow. I can't believe you guys have gone since October without a fill. It's February!
Me: Yeah, I thought you guys were supposed to come automatically?
HODM: We are!
See, honey, it's not my fault.