When you enter into their house from the humid Alabama heat and are greeted with that strong blast of frigid air, the contrast is so shocking it's like you've just experienced a a full-body taser.
I'm ready to call in Al Gore so he can give that nifty lecture with all of those fancy charts to try to shame my parents into turning the air down. Because my shivering pleas of "I THINK I'M SUFFERING FROM HYPOTHERMIA!" and "THE GIRLS HAVE FROSTBITE!" seem to be falling on deaf ears. And speaking of deaf ears, I think the entire metropolitan area of Birmingham knows what my parents have on their television set at all times.
Perhaps this is a brilliant scheme on my parents' part to ensure we stay the shortest time possible. Or perhaps my parents are Eskimos in need of hearing aids.
Three days down; at least 28 to go. My husband will pay. Oh, yes, he will pay.