Nobody warns you about this part of marriage.
They tell you marriage takes love.
Patience.
Communication.
Compromise.
Nobody mentions that eventually you will spend a significant portion of your adult life fighting over two freaking degrees.
Welcome to…
THE GREAT THERMOSTAT BATTLE.
There are two kinds of people in every household:
Person #1:
“I’m freezing.”
Person #2:
“Well, I’m hot.”
And somehow these two people found each other, fell in love, got married and bought a house together.
Nature is cruel.
It Always Starts Innocently
You’re sitting on the couch watching TV when you notice something.
Your nose is cold.
Your hands are cold.
Your feet crossed over into hypothermia approximately 20 minutes ago.
So you ask:
“Is it cold in here?”
Your husband doesn’t even look up.
“No.”
Interesting.
Because I can currently see my breath.
I check the thermostat.
19°C.
NINETEEN.
Are we heating a house or storing deli meat?
So naturally, I turn it up to 21.
Not 28.
Not tropical rainforest.
Twenty-one.
A perfectly respectable temperature enjoyed by civilized people.
And then I walk away.
He Knows
Ten minutes later, from somewhere in the house:
“DID YOU TURN THE HEAT UP?”
How???
How did you know?
Do men develop some sort of thermostat sonar after retirement?
He can sleep through the dog barking.
He can’t hear me asking him a question from six feet away.
But increase the thermostat by one degree and suddenly he’s NORAD.
“It’s boiling in here!”
Boiling??
It’s 21°C.
Nobody has ever been hospitalized from exposure to 21°C.
So Begins the Sneaking
After enough years together, you stop discussing the thermostat.
Discussion is pointless.
Now we operate covertly.
I walk past.
click.
Up one degree.
He walks past.
click click.
Down two.
I walk past again.
click click click.
Oh.
YOU WANT TO PLAY?
Fine.
This is no longer about comfort.
This is about principle.
By lunchtime, the thermostat has had more action than it has seen since 1997.
Then We Got a Smart Thermostat
Huge mistake.
Because now you don’t even have to get off the couch to participate in the war.
We’re sitting beside each other.
Watching television.
Neither of us speaking.
I open the app.
21°C.
Thirty seconds later:
20°C.
I look at him.
He’s looking at the television like an innocent man.
I change it back.
21°C.
A minute later:
19°C.
OH REALLY, BRUCE?
Apparently we’re choosing violence today.
Now I’m holding my phone like I’m bidding at an auction.
I DON’T EVEN WANT 22.
I’m making a point.
At this stage, we’re not heating the house.
We’re testing the marriage.
And Then Menopause Joins the Fight
Here’s where things get complicated.
Because my body also has a thermostat.
Unfortunately, it was manufactured in 1964 and apparently the warranty has expired.
At 7:03 p.m.:
“I’m freezing.”
Sweater on.
Blanket.
Slippers.
Tea.
At 7:11:
“WHY IS IT SO HOT IN HERE?!”
Sweater off.
Blanket thrown across room.
Hair lifted off neck.
Window cracked.
At 7:16:
“Who opened this window? It’s freezing!”
Me.
I opened the window.
I am now fighting myself.
Bruce doesn’t even need to participate anymore.
He can just sit there and watch.
Bedtime Is Where Things Get Serious
Apparently the bedroom must be “cool for sleeping.”
Fine.
But there’s cool…
and then there’s waking up at 3 a.m. wondering if the Titanic has gone down and you’re floating somewhere in the North Atlantic.
I’m wearing pajamas.
Socks.
Possibly another pair of socks.
Blanket up to my eyebrows.
Only my nostrils are exposed.
Beside me?
A man with no shirt on.
One leg outside the covers.
Complaining that he’s hot.
HOW ARE YOU HOT?!
Your side of the bed is practically outdoors.
Meanwhile, I’m considering putting HotHands in my bra.
The Thermostat Has Become Evidence
Now I check it every time I walk past.
Not because I’m cold.
Because I DON’T TRUST ANYONE.
20°C.
Interesting.
Wasn’t it 21 earlier?
I stare at Bruce.
He stares at me.
“What?”
Nothing.
I know what you did.
He knows I know what he did.
The dog knows.
The thermostat knows.
Nobody talks.
This is marriage after 25 years.
And Don’t Even Get Me Started on Opening Windows
This man will turn the heat down because:
“Heating costs money.”
Then five minutes later he’ll open the back door and stand there talking to someone for twelve minutes.
HELLO?!
Close the door!
WE’RE NOT HEATING CAMBRIDGE.
Suddenly I’m my mother.
And that’s when you realize you’ve reached a certain age.
You don’t become your mother when you start saying things like “drive safely.”
You become your mother the first time you yell:
“SHUT THE DOOR! THE HEAT’S ON!”
It’s official.
Welcome to middle age.
There Is No Compromise
People say marriage is about meeting halfway.
That’s adorable.
There is no halfway with the thermostat.
20°C means:
One person is slightly chilly.
The other person is slightly warm.
Which means both people are unhappy.
Apparently that’s compromise.
So after all these years, I’ve accepted something.
I married a wonderful man.
We built a life together.
We’ve survived bills, moves, work, family, aging and all the other things life throws at you.
But if I disappear under mysterious circumstances…
check the thermostat history.
Because I guarantee this started when somebody changed it to 19°C.
And I’m not saying who.
But his name starts with B.
😂😂😂
Now I need to know: What temperature is your house set at—and which one of you is secretly changing it when the other person isn’t looking?
