I live in Florida. It’s hot. Really fucking hot.

Growing up with my parents could have been a lot worse. But one of the things in my family that always started a knock-down drag-out fight was heat. Keep in mind that my parents, like many parents, can always be counted on for the following things:

1) Being tight-fisted when it comes to spending money on electricity.
2) Being paranoid about everything.
3) Always being too cold.

See, my father grew up in the Caribbean and I think my mother is cold-blooded. But I spent my formative years playing in the snow in New Jersey and only got dragged down here for my teenage angst period. So while it was paradise for them, it was purgatory for me.

My parents’ house allegedly has central air, but the cold air rarely got to my room in the corner of the house. So my parents installed a ceiling fan, which helped a bit, but my parents tended to turn it off while I was away, so I would come home from school to a hot room.

One day I asked my mother why they always turned off my fan. She said, "We don’t like to leave it on when nobody’s here. Something could happen. It might start a fire."

I was nonplussed. "If you think my ceiling fan is going to burst into flames then TAKE IT OUT OF MY CEILING! I keep it on at night! I don’t want a GIANT SPINNING WHEEL OF FLAMING DEATH killing me while I sleep!"

Seeing that the logic of her argument was a bit flawed, she then said, "okay, we just turn it off when nobody’s here to save electricity."

"Oh, okay."

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