We live in a house with roughly 20,000 light switches. A house with Electrical wiring installed by an individual who clearly does not have electricity in his own home. A house where the panel of halogen lights in the bathroom has a 12 /24 volt transformer between the lights, because apparently when they were installing it they only had two 240 volt light bulbs and two 12 volt bulbs. A house where most of the hard to reach lighting is 150 watt halogen bulbs, the kind that seem to last about six hours before melting down or exploding in a shower of pyrotechnics.
If you live in Muscat, You likely live in this sort of house too. If you hapen to be married to a man as fantastic as mine, you will spend four hours every weekend watching him sweating and cursing, changing the same 75 light bulbs he changed last weekend.
Any other man would have instructed his family to learn to live with the darkness, to embrace the romance of candlelit dinners, and the excitment of falling down stairs you can't see when getting up to pee in the night. But not Stone. He is slowly, but surely fixing the millions of electrical gremlins that plague this house, and for that I love him.
Stone replaced all the needless transformers this weekend, so now all of our lights run on a 240 volt system. This makes shopping for lights a lot easier because we don't need a seven tiered shopping list every time we go to the hardware shop. He lovingly wiped all the Quartz Halogen bulbs with alcohol before installing them this time, hoping that would remove whatever trace factory residue was causing them to explode. He hauled the giant ladder up and down stairs, replacing difficult to reach fixtures with long life Flourescent fixtures instead, and replaced the melted dimmers we installed last year with ventilated ones rated for the high intensity lighting in the dining room.
Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you; Do I or do I not have the finest man in all of the world?
Baby, Thank you.