Last night as Franck and I were watching our second Sopranos episode of the evening (new DVD box set – thanks mom for the greatest Xmas present ever) Franck started complaining that he was worried the house wasn’t heating properly.
“You’re probably just tired,” I said smugly. You see, I am currently sporting a miniature portable furnace around in the form of the glow-worm, and even though it is the dead of winter I can hardly remember what cold feels like.
“Yeah,” he agreed, and we watched our show for a few minutes more. But then he got up before the episode even finished and said. “I’m going to bed to warm up – I’m just too cold on the couch.” With that, he stumbled over with the quilt wrapped around him to the nearest radiator (besides me, that is) and gave it a feel.
“Merde,” he said.
“There’s no heat.”
He was right, the radiator was stone cold. Merde is right. It was about minus 8 degrees Celsius outside. Seriously.
I rubbed my nose, which maybe did feel a little chilled come to think of it. Franck went down in our basement which post-renos still resembles a nuclear bomb site and managed to dig up our sleeping bags we took to Nepal, an extra duvet, and thank god we have them our two electric radiators.
We plugged one radiator in the girls’ bedroom and one in ours, got kitted out in several layers of long johns and pyjamas, put the sleeping bags on top of the girls, and went to bed. It was just like Little House in the Prairie I told the girls…well, except with feather sleeping bags and electric radiators, that is.
This morning we tracked down the local oil delivery guy and got him to fill up the tank, hoping desperately that it was just lack of oil and not a broken furnace. As Franck had sped off in the car to track the delivery truck down just seconds before the delivery guy arrived at our house the poor man got what I’m sure was the lovely surprise of me with my eight month pregnant stomach, hair whiff-skew, and a grotty bathrobe answering the front door.
Luckily once the tank was refilled the heat came back on. Seems with all the chaos of the past month that we had sort of forgotten to keep track of how much oil we still had (or rather didn’t have) in the tank. It was like the Sahara in there.
Can the lack of brain cells be blamed on the pregnancy or the renovations? Take your pick.