Smoke 'em if ya got 'em,
'cause I'd like to celebrate our final, yes, final, lighting exchange that took place this morning.
I think. I hope. Jeff hopes. Prays.
Yes, friends-- our final boob light is gonzo. Let's break out some bevi's. Mark it in our journal.
I wish I was as cool as y'alls who go thrifting and hook themselves up with a totally awesome and cheap chandy,
but I'm just not that cool. And I don't get out much. This was a massively clearanced Lowe's number, and I couldn't pass up the price.
And ya know--
my poor, sweet hubs. It got me thinking of all the times I've requested a lighting change.
Like the time we replaced the boob light in the baby girl's bedroom for a chandy--
arms over our heads, my head in his armpit, both of us sweating profusely, cussing. . .
good times, good times.
And did I mention that the hubs did put in a light overhead in Jamison's window bed?
He loved that experience, too. He's all,
"(*Beep*), I hate this beadboard! This would be so easy if there wasn't beadboard up here. I HATE BEADBOARD!"
(I cover my kids' ears)
("Kids, don't listen. Daddy doesn't know what he's saying. He's just upset.")
So, maybe. . . we're done for now. But I couldn't help teasing him that the next chandy we replace is the one that would take a scaffold to get to.
Or maybe I just like coming up with lighting projects, just so I can hear him say, one more time,
"Did I lose a freaking nut?"
Bwhahahaha. It never gets old. (I don't know, did ya?)
I think I just lost some more maturity points.