Over a year ago, I wired a light into the garage. It was a simple bare bulb, but I wired it to a switch at the door so one wouldn't have to traipse clear into the darkness before pulling the string. It was part of a much larger wiring event so when I flipped the switch and it didn't turn on, I was too exhausted with the project to investigate. We did try a couple of different bulbs with no success and I knew that it was likely something simple like a solitary connection that barely slipped out of the nut. I had no motivation to turn off all of the power, haul out the ladder and spend the time to fix it.
So, I didn't. For fourteen months.
For fourteen months, we searched around in a dark garage (that was dim even in daylight) with flashlights, tripping over bikes and coolers; each time I was wishing I had taken the time to fix the light before it was ten o'clock at night and a search party was required to locate whatever item was needed.
Tonight, my daughter ran inside saying, "I just fixed the light in the garage!"
"That's impossible," I said to my husband. She seemed sure, though, so we followed her out.
True to her word, she had fixed the light. "Honey, how did you DO that," I exclaimed, dumbfounded.
"I pulled the string."
Oh, how I wish I were only kidding.