Growing up, my mom was a stickler for electricity. With a rowdy household of three kids, she wanted to keep the electric bill down as much as possible. As a kid, I knew what she was saying about the electric, but I could not have cared less about it. Not my bill, not my problem. At least, that was my thinking back then. So I left the fans running (our living room had two) and I turned the lights on as I walked from room to room but did not turn them off, even after running outside to play. I got yelled at for both of those time and time again. But I got in trouble most for the air conditioning. My mom was stanch in her decision to keep the house on seventy seven degrees at all times. I did not see the harm in turning the temperature down to seventy six or seventy five degrees and did so, often. When she saw the temperature turned down, though–and she always did–she would scold me and turn the temperature right back up to seventy seven. I informed her that the air conditioning was not actually on and working at seventy seven. I told her that if the house was ever going to get cool, the temperature was going to have to be set lower. She was not convinced and refused to budge. Sometimes, after spending a great deal of time playing outside, I would come inside the house, exhausted and overheated. Then, I would turn the temperature down. To seventy. I let the cool air flow through the house and sat back in delight, enjoying the air conditioning blasting on me. That was when I really got in trouble.