Attack of the FloppiesPosted: June 6, 2013 | |
As I walked through the living room with an armful of clean linens from the dryer, Mom stopped me by asking if I could “shift that stuff to one arm and turn on my light.” She was referring to the second ugliest lamp in the room, which is on the end table next to her loveseat.
I glared at her for a second because I know that she can reach up and turn the thing on herself because she does it all the time. Instead of saying something harsh, I took a deep breath and tried to remain calm since our grandkids were visiting for a few days and I didn’t want them to hear their Nana blow her stack.
I moved the load to my left hip and swore under my breath as a hand towel and a washcloth fluttered to the floor. I reached for the switch and gave it the requisite two turns so that the 3-way light would settle in on the second level of brightness, which is the level of illumination that Mom prefers. The light turned on and then turned off. This was not the outcome I anticipated so I gave it two more turns. It turned on and then off once more. Because insanity is defined as doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results and I’m not completely crazy yet, I turned the switch only once to allow the bulb to light and stay lit.
“That’s as good as it gets, Mom,” I commented. “At least until I replace the bulb.”
“I know,” Mom replied calmly. “It went floppy yesterday.”
I looked at her sideways while I leaned over to pick up the wayward laundry from the floor. “Floppy?” I asked as I straightened up. “What’s floppy?”
“The light. It went floppy yesterday so only one light works.”
“What does that mean, floppy?” I asked. “How does a 3-way light bulb go floppy?”
“You know, when you flip-flop the switch over and some of the lights stop working. That’s what’s floppy. Everyone knows that.”