Does anybody have a light?

can we fix it?

Everyone in my family was born in New York. Until me. And everyone born in New York, I assume, is born with a sense of handiness. A can-do attitude, a pair of pliers, a copy of the Times, and a hot dog. I assume they wrap you in deli paper when you’re born in New York. An inherent toughness that I’ll never fully grasp because I was born in Maryland. The state of lacrosse and the Beltway and salty crab seasoning. Any amount of Bob the Builder mentality I have comes from deep in my bloodline. I certainly didn’t put it there.

So whenever something needs to be fixed in my apartment, it requires multiple phone calls and sometimes facetimes with my more able-bodied family members. My dad over the phone telling me how to change my flat tire, my stepdad telling me that there’s no problem WD-40 can’t fix, and my sister showing me how to do everything else. Usually she just comes over and does it herself and then we go get banh mis and call it a day. I’m handy in other ways. I can untangle your headphone cord and I can edit your essays. 

Last week I was “applying mascara gracefully” (sitting on the toilet) when the light in my bathroom went out. I assumed the power cut out, because of the abruptness, but I could see light pouring in from the living room where I had paused my episode of “The Wire.” So, like a normal girl, I had a light bulb burn out. And I had to fix it. Changing a lightbulb hardly counts as being handy, I understand, it’s the basis of most jokes about dumb people. In my situation for how many people it took, the answer is five.

I knew I had to buy a light bulb to replace the one that died. My hardware store guy walked me through a beautiful array of options. These are higher wattage, these change colors, these are cheap, ok I’ll take those. I love this man because every time I walk in he looks at me like I’m helpless but he talks to me like I’m not. We both pretend that I’m competent enough to do things myself without crying or screaming and that’s an important part of any dynamic. They’re making a movie about us soon. I need to get his name.

I walked back home with my LED bulbs and got to work. I stood on my Ikea kitchen chair and with my arms extended at full length, my toes in relevé, unscrewed the bottom knob and gently brought the globe down to expose the dead lightbulb. The rusty water that spilled onto my shirt due to built up condensation inside the light fixture from the shower is none of my business.

After changing my shirt and cleaning out the glass dome in the shower, I dried my hands and got back on the chair to screw in the new bulb. This was very straightforward and I’m pleased to announce the guys in the jokes are right. It should only take one girl.

After the bulb was in I tried to put the dome back on. But I couldn’t. I called my sister who told me that she could do it if she was there and called my stepdad who said he could do it if he was there. I really had intended to call my mom and get mad at her for bringing me into a world in which women must do such hard things, but then Paul chimed in with helpful advice about WD-40 and elbow grease.

If you wanted to know, the dome is still sitting on my floor. I’m going to get the WD-40 in the morning and maybe spray some onto my frontal lobe to make it run smoother. One day, I will have a completed light fixture in my bathroom again. One day, I will be able to fix tiny things in my house on my own. One day, my kids will be born in NY and then they can grow up with a toughness that allows them to fix things for mommy. I will hold them when they cry and I will encourage them to read memoirs and they will reset my hoverphone when it breaks.