About Those Curly Bulbs...

Somebody keeps playing with my dimmer switch. 

Really, it's true.

At first, I thought it was just that whole approaching 50 thing. They say the first thing to go is the eyesight, and the reading glasses living on my nightstand would tend to agree. It seemed reasonable to blame the dark shadows on the aging process as well.


But then, I noticed a little pattern emerging. It seems that my eyes weren't always stuck on low wattage.

Nooo...

It was directly proportional to the presence of

this little beauty in the room. 

Curly Top. 

She's everywhere, and I'm just not a fan.

I don't care what *they* say, she has about as much oomph as a kerosene lamp. Working in a room full of  Curly Tops is like playing shadow tag on a hazy day.  That's the first beef that I have with her; she's  a dim wit.

Now, I realize that  a lot of folks love their energy efficient curly tops. I just don't happen to be one of them.

In fairness, no one is forcing me to burn them right now. I brought them into my home of my own free will. I'm nothing if not a tightwad after all. When that little piggy went to market boasting a ten year  life span, I brought her all the way home.   

That was about ten years ago.
Since that time, I've replaced them more than once.
I keep expecting a different result.
That's my second beef. 

Truth is, Curly Top is a bit of a tease who rarely  lives up to her reputation. Apparently, there's a reason for that, too.  Apparently, florescent bulbs  weren't really designed to be switched on and off like a regular old light bulb. They were designed for places like factories where they can burn for long periods of time. 

Who knew?

I certainly didn't.

I didn't know that breaking one was akin to committing an act of act of bioterrorism either, but that's another story. I'll call it my third beef. 

And then, there's the whole attractiveness thing.
There's the beef.

I could more easily tolerate the lying little dim witted bio hazard in the interest of savings if she weren't such an eyesore. I think she should be banished behind the shade of a table lamp. Unfortuntely, the besotted testosterone who lives with me likes to spread the curly wealth all over the house. This makes the estrogen very unhappy.

Yes, I realize it's a little late to worry about style when you have a rattan and brass hovercraft dangling from your popcorn ceiling, but I do. I have gray roots and crow's feet too, but I still don't walk around with broccoli between my teeth.  Same principle.

Kind of.

I actually stopped that project midstream and claimed a small, temporary victory in the invasion of the Curly Top. The husband might have given in, but he's not interested hearing me harp about it.

So I'm harping to you instead.    

What about you? 

What's your relationship with Curly Top?