Ice, Ice Baby

Alright, STOP; collaborate and LISTEN.

Yup, I went there.

I find it alarming that I was genuinely thrilled this morning when I looked at the thermometer that is glued to our kitchen window and it indicated that the temperature was hovering just below 0 degrees Celcius (which, for you non-Science types out there, such as myself, is the equivalent of being just below 32 degrees Fahrenheit – namely, literally, FREEZING).

This marks the first time in, oh, about a week that the temperature has dared venture above -20 degrees Celcius.  NEGATIVE TWENTY.  That, my fellow Bill Nye wannabes, equals -4 degrees Fahrenheit. (Don’t be too impressed; I had to go here to figure this out.  I’m lucky I can remember how to convert fractions (½) into decimals (0.5) and percentages (50%).  Um, that’s right, right?  RIGHT???)

So, since I practically danced the Dance of Joy this morning in my kitchen (alone; Vlad was on his way back from Kyiv via overnight (and re-routed to the tune of over two extra hours) train, due to the cancellation of his flight last night, which means my losing the Kopeck-toss for the trip to Kyiv this week was actually a blessing in disguise), you’d think I’d have left the house today.

Nope; you’d be wrong.

Vlad finally returned around noon, tired and not wanting to do much of anything and, since the majority of our remaining logistical work (regarding the arrival of our colleagues in town next week) can be done inside of a day, we kind of decided that today would not be that day.  So tomorrow, while he handles logistics, I will do some more fact-finding work (actually, I will ask Lilia to make some fact-finding phone calls; the only fact I would find upon making such calls myself is that the people I’m calling speak no more English than I do Ukrainian) and knock out the report that we need to turn in on Saturday.

So, on to more important issues: our shower.  It starts out scalding, melt-your-skin-off hot, and when you have the AUDACITY to adjust the temperature just a touch so your skin doesn’t melt off completely, the shower cops an attitude and, as if to say, “Oh, yeah?  You want colder water?  I’ll GIVE you colder water, you ungrateful little…,” BAM, the water immediately adjusts to room temperature (which wouldn’t be so dreadful if the room weren’t roughly 50 degrees [Fahrenheit] to begin with).  No matter how far to the left you move that handle, it is not getting any hotter, so you just stand there, soaping and shivering, soaping and shivering.  (Do you know how pointless it is to bother trying to shave legs that are all goose-bumpy from the cold?  Absolutely useless.  I’m glad I’m not a competitive swimmer.  As if.)

(BTW, what the heck is with the label on that package of Goose Bumps?!)

But it gets BETTER!  See, on really special days, if you’re reeeeeeally lucky, you’ll even get the occasional and unannounced cold shot of pure ice water, fresh from what I assume is a GLACIER hiding in our pipes.  Completely at random.  Ha, ha.  Just to make sure you’re up in the morning.  Or the afternoon (don’t judge).

And here, all this time, I thought “Cold Shot” merely referred to a button relegated to hair dryers for the purpose of instantly setting a particular style.  That’s what I get for limiting my horizons; my eyes have now been opened (abruptly, every day) to new possibilities.

So I guess, theoretically, the Cold Shot feature in our shower works in much the same way as the Cold Shot button on a hair dryer, yes?

Word to your mother.