Battle of the Bulbs

Light finally dawns on dim-wit: BUSTED!

I love light. The brighter, the better.

Chuck, honorary Man-of-the-House (non-resident, daily visitor), cannot abide bright lights.

For the first twelve years of our acquaintance, Chuck would turn off the worst offenders as soon as he walked in the dining room; ditto the den.

This past month or so, Chuck has refrained from fiddling with the lights. I’ve been pleased that, at long last, he’s acclimated.

Apparently, I am the one who has acclimated.

This afternoon, I noticed one of the lights in the dining room was out.

I changed the bulb. I changed the bulb. (Repetition intentional.)

Turns out the plug had been swapped into a dead socket.

When I bent to retrieve my glasses, which had fallen beneath the floor lamp in the den, I chanced to see that two of its four bulbs had been removed.

When I remarked on the mystery, Chuck changed the subject.

When I replaced the two bulbs, Chuck click-clicked the dimmer.

The following afternoon, despite my click-clicks, the lights remained dimmed.

When I peered under the shade, I was astonished to note that two of the four newly replaced bulbs were burnt out.

I proceeded to unscrew the pair.

After a half-turn, the loosened bulbs fell into my hands.