Have you noticed that the only people group in America that we’re still allowed to make fun of is white heterosexual males? Sometimes I feel sorry for these guys. They’re the last minority. It’s always okay to make them the butt of a joke, or mock their masculinity, or say anything we want (in front of any audience) to demean them.
So in honor of white heterosexual men everywhere, I want to take this moment and say that one of them was right and I was wrong.
I’ve been giving Roger a hard time about our furnace all summer. Our (ancient) furnace barely made it through the end of the winter. Roger kept fixing things that messed up on it – using parts from the extra (even more ancient) furnace that he keeps beside it for emergency fixes. Finally he bought a new unit, but since the weather was already getting warm when he bought it, that new furnace just got plopped down in the basement beside the other two.
Drives me crazy.
Do you know how much floor space two extra furnaces take up? Too much. I try to keep our basement storage space organized, and I’ve had my eye on that piece of furnace-covered floor all summer. It’s prime storage area for Rubbermaid tubs full of off-season clothing or Christmas decorations.
But, no. Someone was too busy to switch out the furnace and install the new one properly. And so those three hollow hunks of metal sat there, possibly plotting the ultimate destruction of the last minority.
And now it’s October and the nights are getting cool. I pulled out a space heater this weekend because we had no heat source in this house. (And yes- as I plugged it in, I took a moment to feel self-righteously superior because he should have installed the furnace when I told him to.)
But there was one thing I didn’t realize/remember. We bought a furnace that runs on natural gas. Natural gas that’s going to come from a well that was supposed to be drilled over the summer. (Guess our gas well got put on somebody’s back burner.)
I never quite connected those dots when I was nagging at him.
Last night Roger went downstairs and spent an hour fiddling with the old furnace and doing those mysterious things that make it put out heat. It’s actually working. Our house is a comfortable temperature.
If he’d listened to me, we would have a brand-new, completely useless natural gas furnace hooked up in our basement, along with a full and equally useless propane tank outside our house. We’d probably spend our evenings huddled around a space heater, cozying up to hot drinks and feverishly knitting afghans to keep ourselves warm. (That one made me laugh. Judah and Wesley, knitting afghans?!)
In real life, my basement is still crowded, but our house is a comfortable temperature.
Actually, it’s a comfortable life, living with a man who can take whatever I throw at him without getting defensive about it. And who can fix just about anything. These are the times that remind me to be grateful that I’m not doing this whole life/home/family thing on my own.
Here’s to all the white heterosexual men out there. The world may mock you and treat you like a joke, but some of us still think you’re pretty great. Stay strong and play nice.