Why's it so cold in here???

My dears.

There are several stories in my repertoire I like to think the catch phrases of inspire my audiences to request them again, for example, there is of course:
1. The story that involved the sentence "well, First Fiancé was a robotics engineer. He worked with……….well, as you can imagine, robots."; and
2. The story that included "Husband came home early to find him up our tree with a running chainsaw and liquor on his breath".

There are some stories best seen in person (like my sun).

And there was something that happened just last night that I think will, for
me, gain it's own little place on the list of favourites.

It starts, innocently enough, with me tidying up the always strangely cold family room. It has electric heat in there, and we frequently turn it on just to take the chill off, despite it having just the same amount of heat as the rest of the house.

I have long suspected it of poor insulation, the same suspicion I hold of the rest of the house, but this addition was built sometime in the 80s, so I would have thought it would be a tad warmer. No. The outside wall has always been remarkably cold. We can also strangely hear our neighbours close their car doors with surprising clarity.

In tidying up, I moved MlleL's craft/tackle box away from the wall and was surprised with the almost frozen quality of her paints. Very cold, they were. Very cold. And also, a bit stiff.

Strange.

So I felt around, and realized that the little hole our electrician/waiter friend had helped us remove the live wire from (hah, no, seriously, yes. It was a wire, poking out of the wall. She had had the couch on top of it.) in the trim was actually blowing cold air into the room. Sorta the reverse of say, the furnace.

I was very proud of myself for having found what I assumed to be the source of the problem, particularly after the success of shrink wrapping the upstairs windows (they're now almost clear!), and went off to find Husband to happily report what I thought might be able to be fixed with a can of Great Stuff (at least for now, until we think of a prettier way to deal with that room.)

It's down here, I said, behind the futon… We pulled it out. He felt the outlet. No, I said, pointing again to the little hole, about a toonie in diameter, here!

Leaning over the back of the futon, he pulled the spare portion of the mattress away from the wall to get a better look, and had to tug harder because the frost had stuck it to the wall.

Now let's just pause and read that last phrase again. The. Frost. Had. Stuck. It. To. The. Wall.

Now. I'm no Mike Holmes, but I am a big fan (hi, Mike!) and do watch the show, so I know that that? That's not right. Not right at all.

Fudgesicles.