A few weeks ago, our kitchen light burned out.
It was a hideous light. Absolutely repulsive looking. It was covered in a wood grain sticker and plexiglass. It hung ajar, about an inch below the ceiling, and neither of us had ever bothered to try to fix it. I abhorred it from the time I moved in, almost 10 years ago.
So anyway, the light bulb inside burned out.
I waited about three weeks for Joe to replace the bulb, but he never did. Becoming irritated, I decided to do it myself.
I went to the hardware store, but when I got there, I wasn’t sure what to buy. There were more circular fluorescent bulbs than I expected. I called Joe, who said the light needed a double bulb: two circular light bulbs connected with a single plug.
I could find no such thing. I found an employee who told me that no such thing existed in their inventory.
I made the executive decision that it was time for a new light fixture. I found one that I liked and bought it.
When Joe got home, he found that the old light fixture did not actually require a double light bulb, but two single light bulbs. We decided together that we’d just keep the new one anyway, and he began removing the old one.
When he started installing the new one, he got zapped. More than once. It turns out he hadn’t turned the breakers to the kitchen off.
After some arguing nagging discussion, he finally went down to the breaker box and turned off the power to the kitchen.
After that, installing the new light was easy.
© 2009 – 2018, Tara Ziegmont. All rights reserved.