25 March 2006
Glen has gone to Chicago with Da Boyz for the weekend, thus guaranteeing that a) the baby will get sick; b) the heater will stop working; and c) I will get very little of my homework done. Bad timing! The first of my term papers is coming due in ten days, and I will make no progress on it this weekend.
OK, the baby is not actually “sick,” she's just teething, but it makes her just as high-maintenance as if she were sick. And yes, the heater did stop working, almost as soon as Glen left the state. This is the second time this has happened recently, so I knew Glen knew how to fix it, but I didn't realize it had died until about 1:00 in the morning. I was tempted to call Glen in Chicago and get him out of bed so he could explain it to me (read: feel my pain), but I didn't ... probably because I thought it wasn't his fault.
So this morning I called Glen, and took my cell phone, a screwdriver, a pair of pliers, a flashlight, and a box of matches down into the crawl space under the house, and re-lit the pilot light. At some point during the procedure it came out that in fact, it is Glen's fault that the pilot went out. He was down there a while ago for some reason that escapes me now, and noticed that the gas for the pilot light was turned up really high, so he turned it down. A lot. So last time when it went out, he turned it back up, just not enough. Thanks, genius boy.