One day I was being helpful around the house. A rare occurrence because usually I've got to be helpful in one of the rental properties, some smelly garbage disposal or leaky toilet seal, you know, the good stuff.
I noticed that Joyce's lamp had gotten dusty on the inside. You could see the dust clearly, because it was a clear Lucite lamp, and years of being next to the heat radiator had let dust settle on the inner surfaces of the lamp. The Art Deco Lucite Floor Lamp that Joyce loves.
So, lovingly, tenderly, I wrapped a paper towel soaked in Windex around a wooden ruler, and used it to remotely reach in and clean the inner surfaces. There were a few corners that I couldn't reach with a ruler, so I loosened up one of the nuts holding the end pieces on. The end piece of the Art Deco Lucite Floor Lamp that Joyce loves. I heard a terrifying sound:
Now, when you're working on something so close to Joyce's heart, and something goes "dink", that is a grave sound indeed. In unscrewing the nut, I had loosened a metal bolt from the other side, and a little 6 inch shaft of metal had slipped out. I picked it up, and when I went to insert it, I noticed that the lucite holes did not line up as they had before. I turned the lamp on its other side for a closer look. A shower of small Lucite blocks fell on the floor. The horrifying clatter of course attracted the attention of my wife.
"What are you doing, there?" from the other room.
- gulp - "I noticed that there was a little dust inside your Lucite Lamp, so I'm just *dusting* it a bit, Honey."
Meanwhile, I loosened another nut, in hopes of lining up the first one, more of those clacking sounds, like the Wind Chimes of Satan, as the pieces fell all on the floor, much to the delight of Gondi the Evil Cat, who started batting the little pieces around the floor.
New approach. Take a deep breath.
I intentionally loosened all the nuts in the whole lamp, unscrewing everything that could be unscrewed. I loaded everything into a five-gallon bucket, and took them downstairs, because I could not work with my hands trembling so. There were close to two hundred pieces when I had finished.
I cleaned all the pieces with dishwasher liquid, and laid the pieces of the corpse out on the table: a very apprehensive moment indeed, while I waited for them to dry. I showed Karl and Fred, my so-called friends, and they both shook their heads and volunteered to be pallbearers when Joyce found out that I had murdered her lamp.
I let the pieces dry overnight, and the following day, I re-assembled them, skilled artisan that I am. With a sigh of relief, I screwed in a bulb and plugged the lamp in. Nothing went wrong. Nothing was missing. Nyah Nyah, Karl! In your face, Fred!
This was the luckiest day of the year. Of course, I told Joyce that I had disassembled the lamp on purpose, for maximum cleanage! How differently things could have come out. How my life could have been changed for want of a small single block of lucite!
Thanks for listening and contributing. For up-to-the-minute thoughts, come on over to twitter.com I'm @dimbulb52
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