Actually, it almost blowed up and killed a man, and another man, and a cat, and subsequently would have rendered the blog A Cat Named Steve a near-ghost town with only one author still writing, and who knows if he would still write if Steve, Bill & I were all dead?
After wondering why the furnace wasn’t doing it’s job and keeping me warm on Sunday night, Bill & I discovered that the fan belt was broken – easy fix, right? Wrong. Apparently the “heater manifold exchange bracket” (I just made that up) had suffered a stress fracture, thereby comprimising the structural integrity of the unit, causing the threat level of an explosion to rise to the level of “Code Red”, meaning that we were about to die, but in an act of defiant heroism, Bill flipped the breaker switch to the furnace, effectively rendering it a giant basement paperweight.
As the leader of the house that I am, I took it upon myself to call my mother and tell her that we were cold. She told me to suck it up and be a man about it, so I wiped the tears from my cold face, and layered myself with 2 hoodies, long-johns, 3 pairs of jeans and a Snuggie to top it all off. Bill started a fire in a barrel & we kept warm for the remainder of the night.
The next night was worse, and when I arrived home from work, Bill was already bundled up. I joined him in that endeavor, and we ate baked beans straight from a can. We retired to our respective rooms to a night of complete misery.
To make a long story short, the furnace got fixed yesterday. I was so happy when I got home from work that I spent the rest of the evening in my skivvies. Apparently that’s kinda weird, because when I went out to Chipotle for dinner later that night, I got all sorts of awkward stares. They were clean!