Dangerous Job

The last time I fixed something was yesterday morning. I changed two light bulbs in the ceiling. This probably doesn’t sound like much but if I didn’t do it, we would still be cutting carrots in the shadows or knocking pictures off the walls as we made our way down the hall. I am the official light bulb changer in our house. I hate to delineate husband jobs vs wife jobs, but “fixing” light bulbs just doesn’t seem like a wife job, yet it’s mine.

Changing a light bulb in the ceiling is tricky. Grabbing a kitchen chair is easier than digging a ladder out of our messy garage. Our chairs are antique so it’s a little sketchy standing on them, kind of soft in the middle. I just say a little prayer before I hop up; I don’t want to come crashing down and lose a tooth. I have to reach up, hope I don’t drop anything and have a bigger mess on my hands. The hallway is harder as there isn’t a place to put the bad bulb unless I get down off the chair, throw it away and come back with the new bulb. I’m kind of lazy so I put the bad bulb between my feet and I don’t make a move except to put the new bulb into the ceiling. I carefully pick up the old bulb and step down. Mission accomplished.

I make a big deal about it to my husband, letting him know I’m picking up the slack. I take the old bulbs to the hardware store and have the friendly hardware man load me up with the right bulbs, so I have a stash, ready for my job I don’t want. When I get the, “How was your day?” I respond:

“I went to the grocery store, did the dishes, drove carpool, bought tons of light bulbs AND I changed TWO light bulbs.”

My husband is so relieved. He hates buying and changing light bulbs. He has a higher tolerance for darkness than I do. Even when all the bulbs are working, he moves the dimmer to half. How am I supposed to read the newspaper with that kind of light? I’m all for saving energy and lessening my carbon footprint, but I like to protect my eyes from too much strain. I want to be fully informed on current events.

I am the official garage cleaner too. I guess it makes sense since we don’t have woodworking tools or a workbench in there, just two cars and a bunch of boxes filled with antiques from my parent’s house. The garage is my domain as much as the rest of the house. I am jealous of my friends with husbands that putter around the garage, sweeping and straightening. They tell me, “No, no, no. YOU are the lucky one. Your husband cooks!”

He does cook and he’s a very, very good cook. I’m a better cook because of him too. We don’t get it in a rut with the dinner menu as Hubby is always reinventing flank steak or salmon into something else other than its original form, burritos or stir-fry perhaps. I take after my mom and put dinner on the table the 1970s way, simple protein, rice and a salad. My husband jumps all over that protein to make it spectacular.

I guess that’s a pretty fair trade: creative dinners vs. light bulb changer. I think I got the better deal.