I wish my camera was working properly because I would take a picture of the thermostat. I've ripped the post-it down several times, but the B.F. keeps putting it back up.
Let me back up and say we live on the bottom floor of a four-floor building. I'm used to being on the third floor or higher, and when you go from that to this, it is one f'ing cold apartment. I swear to god the heat isn't working in my bedroom. I'm freaking convinced the vents are broken. It's 10 degrees colder the farther down the hallway you get.
With that being said, I moved the thermostat (GASP!) a mere 4 degrees to make sure it would get back to the bedroom. I didn't realize that B.F. was the reincarnation of my dad. Growing up, He was a nazi about the thermostat in my house. Always. And, once again, my room was freezing in the winter and hot as hell in the summer.
Apparently, he thinks slapping a post-it next to the thermostat will stop me from touching it.
The post-it reads:
If your name is Allison, you are not allowed to touch the thermostat!
Try again, buddy!