"Honey!" (that's what she calls me when she wants me to do something) "If you're not doing anything today could you change the lightbulb over the bathroom vanity?"
"Sure no problem" I lovingly retort as I clear the history on my computer. "I'll phone the electrician!"
"Good, can you phone the plumber too, and have him put the toilet seat down as well, Mr. Wisebottom!" She calls me Mr. Wisebottom when the grandkids are there. But they know what she really means.
And with those sweet parting words the wife heads out the door to work. Which, gives me ten hours to change the lightbulb.
With lightbulbs I have found that the easiest way to tell if they need replacing, is to turn them on. 'CLICK'... Immediately I feel my body heat up. My eyes squint in all it's eight, no, seven, 75 watt, clear globe splendor. This must be what God looks like!
I hold my hands to my eyes as if looking at the sun and with superior intellect surmise its the second bulb on the right. I power down and grab her 'Voluptuous Full Valentine Red' lip grease and draw an arrow at the bulb and write 'Replace this one as all the other 8, no, 7 work just fine'. And then I sign my name with what was left in the tube. I do this just in case I die while out buying a bulb. This way her new husband will know which one is burnt out.
Having made my way across town to the 16 acre parking lot of the 'not-so-local do-it-yourself super store of everything that every wife's been nagging every man on earth about', I try to remember the number of watts on the lightbulb. I stare up at the sun to try and get an idea what it might be. I figure about 1000 watts, but seems a bit too much so I'll just buy something that looks like the other bulbs.
WRONG! There is nothing in the 80ft. isle of illumination that comes anywhere close to what looks like a clear, triple or double digit watt-ed globe bulb. All the bulbs look like DNA sequences! Squiggles and turns and loops of frosted glass that last more hours than the entirety of my school education.
"No sir, we don't carry any incandescent bulbs anymore." said the man I had to track down in the orange shirt. "They've been banned by the government, for being an inefficient user of energy. It's against the law to sell the bulb you're looking for."
"So what do I do?" I question as I raise my hands in the air. "Buy eight new DNA sequences because of one bulb?"
"If you'd like to borrow my phone sir to call the wife...." he mechanically responds as if he says it to every troubled male customer.
"Why,...do you think I can't make this decision on my own?" I respond with hands and arms still in the air.
He shrugged his shoulders,and raised his eyebrows. It was then I noticed every guy in the store was on a cell phone. These guys looked like they did a lot of things around the house, and knew how to do it right. They asked the wife. Well not me, I have a greater IQ than my bulb had watts. I think....
"PSSST...PSSST" I turned to see a guy in the next isle over had parted boxes of light fixtures and was trying to get my attention by forcing air between his teeth. "You looking for candy? Bright clear candy?" He whisper shouted at me. "Bright hot candy?"
I pointed my finger at myself, stuck my chin on my chest and in my best DeNero said "You talking to me?" He wiggled an excited index finger at me and motioned with a pull on his head to follow him. Sure, why not. At the very least I'll get candy or at the very worst I'll be able to report a pervert is on the loose in isle 57.
It's out the doors and off to a far corner of the parking lot. I somewhat question my decision after having walked five minutes past my car. He stops at a old blue Chevy van with curtains on the windows. I'm thinking I'm not getting candy. He slides open the rusted side door and looks around the lot as he's doing so. I'm now thinking intervention! Has the wife paid this guy to abduct me and rush me off to some sort of place to reprogram my dependency for candy?
"Behold" he commands as he slowly motions his arm across boxes of incandescent bulbs of every shape and wattage. "C A N D Y" he slowly breathes. "In-CANDE-sent.. CANDY. Bright, clear and oh so hot CandyBulbs."
I'm now standing at the crossroad of my life. Do I commit this crime and illuminate my dark side for wanting a brighter tomorrow. Will I always be looking over my shoulder in fear of being called a nar - do -well for just wanting one matching lightbulb?
"If you'd like to borrow my phone sir to call the wife..."
"This is between you,.....and me" I state through clenched teeth, doing my best Clint Eastwood. "I'll take a kilo, .....no 1000 kilos of Cande!" I quickly insert, and not knowing how much a kilo is.
"Whoa Mr. bad impersonation of a Italian Western Cowboy! Easy on the reins. I sell buy the box. Four to the box."
"I'll take one box then." I slowly whisper through clenched teeth and a Popsicle stick I'd found on the ground that substituted for a stogie.
"If you're caught, this never happened, you do not know of me. Tell them it's for your grandkids Easy Bake Oven. It's still legal to buy a full load of triple digit wattage if you bake with a bulb in a plastic oven. I have many ovens. Nobody gets burnt! It's how I get my stock of Candy.
It's then my phone alerts me I have a call from home. "Hello?...Oh hi Honey ( I call her that when I've done something wrong....she gets called honey a lot) Whats that? The bathroom mirror? Lip gloss?.....Could of been the electrician......my signature?"
This was followed by 3 1/2 minutes of me agreeing and crying yes honey, no honey and you're absolutely right honey. She hangs up and I collect what dignity I had left and inform the nice man with the blue van that I will not be needing any Candy today....thank-you. My lovely wife has seen a picture in the do-it-yourself book of weekends, (that stretch into months), that she would like me to purchase. An energy efficient cost saving light fixture to hang over the bathroom vanity.
I spit out my Popsicle stick, pull my pants up to my chest and turn, with head held high, back toward my original intended destiny of the everything do-it-yourself super store.
"Hey Mr. Eastwood I can fix you up with my cousin! He's an electrician!" (he shouts but his offer is incomplete in it's entirety as he can't hold back from laughing). His laughter pokes at my ears as I reach the car, then take the extra five minute more to walk back,... to,... the,... store.
"Isle 57, isle 57, customer service in isle 57."
Bob Niles
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