byo wool

I'm worried. Very worried. About what it's going to cost to keep my house from icing over this winter--I've heard estimates ranging anywhere from 25 to 70 percent increases over last year. Which may mean, by spring, Burton and I have 25 to 70 percent fewer fingers. We are cheap sonsofbitches, particularly when it comes to home-heating costs. We have a history.

Back when he was in school and I was earning about what I am now and we couldn't afford anything more, we set the thermostat to 55 degrees. At night, we reeled it back to 50. (Right about now, my mother is thinking: "How warm and toasty!" This is a genetic defect.) We slept in sweaters and ski hats, under double down comforters, and cut back on showers--because stepping out of the hot water and into the 50-degree air was like plunging into a glass of ice water. Friends stopped coming over to visit, sometimes because they didn't own enough sweaters to keep themselves warm in our apartment.

I suspect this year it will start with a challenge: How long can we go before we turn on the heat? By then, we'll be acclimated. The ski hats and sweaters will already be out. Bulk orders of chapstick and herbal teas received. By then, there's no turning back.