I'm underweight. I have little body fat. I have post-polio syndrome, one factor of which makes my body think it is 20-degrees colder than the air temperature. I wear long sleeves, a vest, a scarf, and a wool cap in a house where the thermostat is set at 72-degrees. Even on hot summer days, I do not turn on the air-conditioner until my wife comes home and say, "How can you stand it in here?"
And so I love an electric blanker. I especially loved my Biddeford Blankets, one made of plush fabric with a heating element. It could be yours too for sixty bucks at your nearest Target store. I bought it. I used it, oh, perhaps 50 days or so. It quit.
But I failed to register the warranty. And I cannot find the sales receipt.
"You can't run it on high all the time," my wife said. "You burnt it up."
"Why does it have a "high" setting if it won't work on "high?" was my logical reply.
"You just run it too hot," she replied. "Anyone can see that."
Thus, we have another conflict between logic and faith.
I'm tired of being cold. I wear a polar jacket, with a hood, in the mall. I sit next to an electric heater at home. I shiver. I hurt. I hate winter.
The good folks at Biddeford Blankets, however, have a 800-number for questions. Dare I ask them to honor the warranty I didn't bother to register?
I call. "Leave your name and telephone number, and we'll return your call."
Except when they don't ...
Perhaps I shouldn't have told them I didn't register the warranty when I left the message. That's called shooting yourself in the foot, I think. I don't know. My feet are too cold to feel anything.
But I'm an honest guy. I don't want to freeload. I did ask, fingers crossed, if they might have a problem with a particular lot number. That's all I have. A lot number. No serial number.
I'll give Biddeford another day or three, and then I'll break down an get another blanket. And I'll send in the registry card, and I'll keep the sales receipt. I suppose $60 is cheaper than driving to Key West or buying an airline ticket to a tropical island.