Or Die Trying Part II

Life has thrown some great blogging material in my path since I last wrote but I had better finish up this tale before I write about any new adventures.

My trip the Rockingham Electric to buy the new ballast was one of the high points of my day. Not one but two hunky 20 something males helped me with my purchase. They also very patiently walked me through a ballast installation. I almost but not quite convinced hunk No. 2 to come home and help me. I promised him beer in exchange for his technical skills. Almost, but not quite. Dang!

Once home, I threw the Main breaker in preparation for climbing back onto the counter. Not one, not two, but no less them 7 men told me to remember to turn off the power. As if I would fool around with electrical wiring with the juice on! I had no desire to be the lead story on the evening news, thank you very much. I mean, come on!

The old ballast was removed without any trouble, but this is where I encountered my first speed bump. The wiring going to the tube connector thingies was so old and frayed that even this woman knew it needed to be replaced. Removing the connectors involved unscrewing one screw on each end of the fixture. And one of the screws refused to screw. It started to screw. Screwed for a few wimpy turns but then stopped. I was screwed. And pissed. Time for a break and a phone call. Yes, I made a call. To the ex. Could he come over and help me with a stubborn screw? He came. He applied his man power to the screw which, of course, fell into his hand. Traitor screw. Screws must be male.

I'm going long again. Let me see if I can kick this story into warp drive. Back to Rockingham to buy new connectors. Told to buy a whole new fixture. Home for much needed nap. Woke up. Wiped drool off of face. Threw Main. Climbed back onto counter. Removed old fixture. Got stalled by stubborn punch outs. Drank tea and bitched to friend via e-mail. Used steak knife on punch out. Threw Main. Back on counter. Screwed new fixture to ceiling. Wired fixture. Hit wall. Swore a blue streak in my head. For two hours. Started drinking. Climbed on counter. Fixed dinner. Drank. Eat dinner as I drank. Cussed some more. Put kids to bed. Continued drinking and swearing and climbing on counter to see if this time I could figure out how to get the damned connectors to stay in their damned holes. Gave up. Called friend. Laughed and laughed. And finally did the sensible thing. Accepted his offer of help. I had to say "please".

15 minutes later he was on my counter. The kids were awake and provided comic relief. I was trashed and trying very, very hard not to break into hysterical giggles. He finished the job. We agreed that those two pieces that I failed to attach to the ends of the fixture probably would have helped. In the end he just figured it out. And instead of feeling galled that he could and I couldn't, I just felt grateful. Very, very grateful. I was able to collapse into bed a short time later knowing that I had a working light in my kitchen. And knowing that I am not so stubborn that I can't accept help when I need it.

But before bed I stood in my kitchen and flipped the switch on and off over and over again. And finally gave way to the giggles.