The wood furnace who got us through the winter
after eating every stick of wood in Mathews
Last night I returned to bed and heard him rise and proclaim, "You don't even know when the furnace is out." Indeed I did not, but had I known I would have still gone to bed and accepted his put-down as some distorted form of "goodnight."
Unknown to me, he had disconnected the wood furnace and flipped the switch on the oil burner, who leaped with relish upon his first opportunity to show Husband his resentment by clogging up and sputtering out. At 8 AM, I hear husband fussing in the kitchen about having to make a trip in the seafood truck, "...and I'm out of wood, and the @#$%*!* oil furnace is broken down, and I don't care!"
"Good Morning and have fun!," I sang out like a canary in a coal mine. The dismal cloud followed Husband to the car and soon they were out of sight.
Oil Furnace having jealousy issues.
As I had my first cup of decaf, I felt a little like Oil Furnace, amused at the whole matter, and even a little satisfied. Neither of us was informed by Husband before he installed the "Backyard Bimbo," as Oil Furnace dubbed him. Neither of us deliberately engaged sabotage, but do see the a little bit of "go around, come around" here.
On the next try, Oil Furnace blasted forth heat and saved the day. All is forgiven.