I hope this isn’t too personal but…
I’ve developed an unusual attachment to something and don’t know how to break it off.
My husband is jealous, but it’s not what you think.
I’ve fallen in love with my space heater.
The affair started a month ago, just after we were directed to turn our thermostats down to 68 degrees. I don’t do well at 68. Organs shut down, joints seize up, eyeballs lock in the open position. Let’s put it this way: If a frozen female corpse were seated next to me on the couch, you would think we were twins.
Sure, I complained, but no one seemed to care. I felt so alone and misunderstood.
And (sniff) vulnerable.
My thoughts began to stray. I took to the open highway.
I’ll never forget the day I spotted Vorny (short for Vornado, a popular brand of space heaters). He was sitting all alone in a store window, looking vulnerable himself. I walked past twice, before I found the courage to look him straight in the grill.
My jaw dropped. My heart flip-flopped. He was the hottest-looking space heater I had ever seen. Good looks aside, I admired the way he circulated, and that he had the decency to turn off when he got too toasty. Best of all, he came with a remote.
I took Vorny home with me that day, and my life has never been the same.
Vorny, Vorny, Vorny.
How do I love him? Let me count the ways.
I love him in the morning when my feet are blocks of ice and he lets me put them directly on his face.
I love him in the afternoon when my temperature is lower than a frozen turkey’s and he sits in my lap like an adoring cat.
I love him in the evening when my mood is frosty and he nips the chill with his scathing watts.
Ah, sweet, sweet Vorny!
Deep down, I know it can’t go on. But every time I try to break it off, I grow sullen and impossibly cold. Life doesn’t seem worth living.
My husband is worried, and for good reason. A few years ago I fell in love with Paddy, my electric heating pad. The sun would set, and Paddy became my passion. Movies, evening walks, a rousing game of checkers: marital activities fell by the wayside as I grew consumed with Paddy and when I could turn him on.
I don’t know when or why Paddy and I grew apart, but eventually we did. I think he burned me one too many times. My husband was relieved when that relationship finally cooled.
But Vorny! He is the warm wind beneath my wings. I can’t fathom a day without him.
But fathom I must. He’s got an unnatural hold on me, and he’s getting too expensive to keep. You know what they say about space heaters: a dinky office today, a mansion in Palm Beach tomorrow.
If you’ve got a good break-up line, let me know. In the meantime, I’ll have no choice but to use the line that’s launched a thousand partings: “It’s not you, Vorny – it’s me.”