In our house, we have a not-so-silent war going on. All around the house, the sound can be heard- sometimes right in your ear, sometimes from the front porch, sometimes whirring thought the wall as you think you have stolen some quiet in the bathroom. It follows me from the living room to the kids room, to the bedroom, downstairs into the playroom, even from the ceiling in the stairway… I cannot escape the whirring, humming, spinning, blowing of the FAN.
My husband is hot. Now, I think he is pretty attractive, but that’s not what I’m talking about. He is just plain hot, no matter what the season or the weather, he is hot. Shorts in the winter, the car windows rolled down in February, take the trash out barefoot in the snow, turn the A/C on in April, he is hot.
There are electric fans in about every room of our house, and if the temperature rises above about 65, he has them on. All of them on. The windows are open, the fans are on. If it goes above about 80, the A/C comes on, and the fans. He points them all right at himself, creating a vortex and mini-hurricanes and tornadoes all over the house. Under a blanket I huddle on the couch, trying to find a corner of the living room where the wind isn’t blowing, but it’s impossible. Papers blow off the ‘fridge, the magazine turn themselves, petals blow from the flowers on the table, and my contact lenses dry out.
The most horrible fan is the one on his nightstand. Yes, he has one on his nightstand- it’s not enough to have a general fan for the whole room, he must have a personal blowing device, aimed directly at his head, a few inches from said head. So when I climb into bed, the vortex whips over the mountains of his body, roars through the valley of the comforter between us, and whips right into my bed territory. My hair swirls around on my pillow and my eyes begin to dry out, and I can’t breathe. He is snoring heartily, so I gingerly reach over and click off his personal wind tunnel, and he snorks and smacks and stirs to life. Grumble, grumble, mumble… grabing his pillow, he heads off to the couch, where he can re-establish his wind tunnel and personal comfort level. I hear the snoring within minutes of the start of the fans.
So I’m on a mission. I am looking for a small, powerful, and silent fan, with a very narrow blow area, that I can point just at him, and we can both be comfortable. I love my hot husband. It’s just that I’m not so hot myself.