You know that episode of The Office where Michael burns his
foot on a George Foreman Grill? I fear this may be my future. And by
that, I mean burning my foot, not being the manager of a paper company’s
Scranton branch.
See, the heat isn’t on in my apartment yet. This wasn’t such
a problem the past few weeks, with the temperatures hovering around 60 most
days and even passing 70 on occasion. But now, in the midwestern fashion of
dramatic highs and even more extreme lows, the temperature dropped a solid 30
degrees overnight. And my apartment has become a very large, very expensive
refrigerator.
I have been keeping warm by wearing multiple sweaters, wrapping
myself in blankets, and keeping the oven on to get a little bit of heat into
the chilled wooden floors and icy window panes of my apartment.
While this last step may pose a fire hazard, I’m tired of
feeling like a character in a Dickens novel. But, I have a new fear of slipping
or tripping in my kitchen and putting my foot in the broiler. Of course,
standing in front of the oven and alternately standing on my right foot, then
my left, then back again, so I can evenly toast them may add to the likelihood of
this outcome.
