Hot House

The air conditioner is dying. In fact, it may have already died. I came home tonight and was surprised to find Bentley panting. It wasn't uncomfortable downstairs so I couldn't figure out why he was hot. Then I went upstairs. The thermostat said it is 88 degrees in the house. It definitely felt like it too. The fan was running but nothing cool was coming out of the vents. Sigh.

I have a home warranty because of the air conditioner. It's the original unit, which makes it 17 years old. It's definitely on its last leg. The past two summers that I've lived here, it's died. Unfortunately, each time it was brought back to life. I wish it would just stay dead so I could get a new one.

So I know who I'm calling first thing in the morning. Hopefully it will be less than two weeks before they get someone out here to look at it. While I love it warm, sleeping in an 88 degree house isn't exactly my style. Thank goodness the air conditioner didn't stop in the dead of summer when it's 116 degrees outside. (I hope I didn't just curse myself...and Chris.)

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