It's cold outside

I grew up in an old house that was very drafty with a cranky heating system that would distribute warm air to the first floor.  We had no heat on the second and third floors and I can remember many a night when I could see my breath in the hazy glow of the lone light bulb dangling from my ceiling.  Often, when I could bear the cold no longer, I would softly creep downstairs with a blanket and pillow to lay on the one heat register, located in the front hallway, that would push warm air up the stairway to the second floor.  Basking in the warmth of the oil-fired heater, I would  fall into a blissful slumber until the grate of the register would heat up, causing me to wake up in a fright.  Feeling guilty about impeding the flow of warmth to the rest of my family, I would stumble back to bed, pull the mound of sheets and covers up over my head, and attempt to stay warm for the rest of the night.