Political correctness under a new light.
Last week I stopped in at London Drugs to buy a 40 watt bulb.
They had none.
Or should I say, they had none that I could recognize as familiar.
Rather, there was a ready supply of the new twisty, twirly thingamajigs that are supposed to burn for a millennium or two. So I bought a 2-pack.
Took the creepy thing home, put one in the wall sconce above the watercolor in the hallway downstairs and behold - ugliness on display!
A light that pauses before it comes on and then glares a sheering hospital corridor brightness that changes your home into an institution.
The twisty, twirly that I put in one of my living room lamps burned out last month, long before it claimed it would.
"Bull," say I.
Whose cousin owns these godawful things? Does the Premier's uncle own the franchise.
I went into the Home Hardware on Salt Spring Island earlier this week and bought me a gross of the Old Familiars and smuggled them back on an unsuspecting BC Ferries crew.
Well, they'll never see the light, will they?
My new old bulb's casting a lovely soft glow above my painting again.
No doubt I am minutes away from the Invasion of the Correct Lighting Commitat.
Send chocolate and a saw.