When I was over for a visit with Sassy this weekend, Jeanne asked me why one of her lamps wasn’t working. She said she really needed those 40 watts in order to render the shapes in the gloom more visible. So I dutifully got on my hands and knees to see what I could make out in the murk. It took some time (Sassy couldn’t help, since she was wearing her jeweler’s loupe to untangle two long necklaces that Jeanne had hopelessly knotted up in 2009 but wanted very much to wear to a hair appointment the following week).
After grunting, swearing, and repeatedly asking Jeanne to move her Merell-ed feet out of the way, I discovered the issue. She had plugged the extension cord into itself, which is why it wouldn’t turn on.
“Bob!” she yelled jubilantly to my father. “Hot Pants fixed the light!”
“Opwsfjoejngebg,” he replied happily.
I felt like a good daughter.