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The Battle of the Bulb

I think I just lost a fight with my wife. Or won. Or something; I’m not quite sure.

There’s a light in the downstairs hallway that’s been burnt out for about a week and a half. Every day, I would come home, remember — when I bumped my toe on the dog in the dark — that the light was out, and make a mental note to replace the bulb. Then, I’d spend the next six hours forgetting that I’d made the mental note, or that I knew the light was out, or that I’d even heard of such things as ‘light bulbs’. Sounds like something you’d use to grow low-fat tulips; what did you say they were for, again?

Today was the first day that I thought about the bulb issue before coming home. For some reason, the plight of the light hit me at the office today. And I remembered something, a lesson I learned about my wife many years ago:

When I don’t do something, it’s because I’m lazy. But when she doesn’t do something, it’s usually because she’s waiting to see how long it’ll finally take me to do it.

As I mentioned, I realized this a good week and a half after the bulb blew. And I immediately remembered the corollary to the above rule:

The longer I don’t take care of the thing, the angrier and angrier she’s secretly going to get.

Yow. Ten days is an awfully long time to simmer, whether over a light bulb that needs replacing, dirty clothes not in the laundry basket, or a bikini ‘borrowed’ from her undies drawer for a Halloween costume.

(For the record, I haven’t done all those things. Don’t be silly; those are just examples. Because I always put my dirty laundry in the basket.

Also? Guys dressed in ‘Phoebe Cates in Fast Times at Ridgemont High‘ costumes get lots of candy. And possibly a restraining order. Just for future reference.)

So tonight, I walked in the door and made a beeline for the light bulbs. Only, I didn’t know where the hell we keep light bulbs, so it wasn’t much of a ‘beeline’, really. Maybe an ADD-beeline. Or a bee-on-speedline. I’m not much of a beeologist, really.

At any rate, I found the light bulbs and installed a new one, so as not to get into deeper trouble. If I ever was in trouble, in the first place. It crossed my mind, of course, that the wife has just been too busy to change the light bulb herself, and that she hasn’t really thought about it. But I ouldn’t take that chance, now, could I? She could’ve snapped at any moment.

(Through careful and controlled past experimentation, I’ve determined that her boiling point for ‘shit he ought to have done, but is too lazy to remember‘ is just under two weeks. Which is about thirteen days longer than my other married friends get from their wives, so I feel fortunate in that regard. She’s a ‘keeper’, for sure.)

But what just happened? Did I ‘win’, because I’m not in trouble? Did I ‘lose‘, because I gave in and changed the bulb? Was there a game going on at all? I can’t say. Honestly, I just don’t know. Looking back on it, only one thing is crystal clear: I am, beyond a doubt, ‘well trained’ as a husband.

Insofar as taking ten days to replace a light bulb constitutes ‘well trained’, anyway. But I’m pretty sure the fact that I considered the consequences of not changing that light — even a week and a half later — means that she’s already ‘won’ every game we’re going to play, from here on out.

Now I know how the dog feels. I’m gonna go have my kibble for dinner, and curl up on a rug somewhere. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna poop in the back yard. I’m not that trained, dammit. Bah.