The Basement Light is On!

There are few things in life I can say I truly hate: Being sick. Hurting someone’s feelings. Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream with not enough cookie dough.  AND, turing off the basement lights.

Every night before I go to bed I have this routine I do. By  the nature of when this must be done, I am of course already very tired and grumpy. All I want to do is go to bed. Often I will have dozed off on the couch already, only to be mysteriously awakened—and all that stands between me and my soft, warm bed is the this nighttime routine.

First I check every downstairs door to make sure it’s locked. I open the front door and lock the storm door as well. I check all the windows (there are 7) and the sliding glass door, and the back door. Then I have to turn off all the lights. I start in the family room and circle around the house (locking things as I go) and end in the kitchen. And this is where I am faced with my final, daunting task—the basement lights.

As I reach for the doorknob whose door leads to the basement steps, all manner of hopes and dreams flood my being. So much rests on what is about to happen. If I open that door, and it is dark down those stairs, then I’m done! Off to bed! But if I see a glimmer of light . . .

Tonight there was that light. I hate that light. Really I do. Most often it makes me very angry. “Why did we leave that light on!?! Why do I have to be the one to turn it off!?!” I then begin my angry march down the basement stairs.

SIDE NOTE: They don’t tell you that when you get married, and you are guy (sorry for the stereotype, but it’s true!) that you suddenly inherit the job of “Protector Of The House From All Things That Have Always Scared You To Death.” Now that you are married, you are suddenly “the man of the house.” Who checks the noise in the middle of the night? You. Who answers the door when someone knocks at 3am? You. Who has to search the entire house for bad guys when your wife is awakened certain she heard people walking around downstairs? You. 

Anyway – down I go, descending into the dark, scary basement, usually in the wee hours of the morning to turn off lights.  And herein I encounter something else I hate. When we moved in, all the lights in the basement had strings helpfully dangling from them which can easily be pulled to ensure quick removal of unwanted light.  Now, however, all the strings are gone! One by one they have all broken! 

So now I have to reach up and grab the white-hot bulbs with my barehand, and hold them tight enough to exert the required force to spin them. But be careful! Don’t spin them too far! Or they might come cashing down on your head!

And then, of course, as the final insult to my half asleep state: once I’ve done that I am left alone in the dark, in the basement, to find my way back out amidst the clutter of so many toys, balls, and scooting apparatus.

I hate turning the lights off in the basement. I know it’s such a selfish and stupid thing to hate. So many people would love to even have a basement. But it’s true.

Is there anything that you must do all the time that you absolutely hate?