Maybe I have been too long without the company of men and have entirely forgotten their natural and innate strength. Some months ago a friend surprised me with a huge television, not a flat screen but one of the olde tyme picture tube behemoths. I do not know how much it weighed, but it was very heavy and shaped too awkwardly to be easily moved. The friend who moved it into my house was in great physical condition, but it was a terrible strain on him to move that monster up the stairs and into my house by himself. My daughter and I were witness to this feat of strength. We held our breath, certain that something in the man's body was going to snap at any second. An enormous sigh of relief escaped us when the man appeared to be in perfect condition at the end of the move.
With no takers, I abandoned the heavy and unnaturally large television in the old house for Dan the builder/demolition expert to do with whatever he may. I had hoped someone would want it, someone with a lot of room in their home because it still worked perfectly, but I was willing to let it go. Leave it to my daughter and her armies of friends and acquaintances: at the last moment someone wanted the television enough to gather a small army of women in two vehicles to pick it up Saturday. Even then, I doubted. I did not believe in my sisters.
Forutnately, the women had a secret weapon among them: a young man. After meeting him in person and close up, I continued to harbor serious doubts! He was just a twig of a man, a sprout. He was not tall, not heavy boned, not heavily muscled. He in fact looked like he needed a big steak and a mound of mashed potatoes or he was in danger of being blown away by the Kansas winds.
Amid continued dire warnings from my daughter and me, the group moved into the old house. Soon a woman emerged walking backwards through the front door carrying... the end of the cord! Before I could start laughing, the young man emerged carrying the huge television in his arms as if he were carrying a bag of groceries! He stepped across a large gap between the porch and the truck bed and easily set the television down. I cannot speak for all of the women present, but at least two of us were quite properly gobsmacked. Wow. It was an amazing thing.
I have a desk lamp sitting right before me, recently acquired for my new office. It is a second-hand desk lamp but perfectly serviceable, given to me by someone I trust implicitly - my daughter. It is manufactured by "Lights of America" and made in China, naturally. The reason I know that is because the other night I plugged it in to use for the first time. It worked fine. When I was finished and ready to shut everything down to go to bed, I could not find the off switch. I read every word stamped or printed on the lamp. (I thought maybe instructions had been provided so Americans would know how to turn it off.)
No other lights were on in the house so I fumbled around, alternating between blasts of bright light in my eyes and total blindness as I turned and twisted the lamp for several minutes. Finally, I turned on more lights, thinking I just was not seeing the switch in the dark. Even in the bright white pool of new light in my brand new house, I could not cipher the location of the switch. For several more minutes I carried on as if it were a failing of my intelligence rather than bad design. I hate to admit this but I actually clapped my hands thinking it was a sound activated switch - a sad and utterly complete failing of my intelligence. At last I gave up the struggle and unplugged the damned thing and have refused to use it since. No one wants to be dumber than a damned light bulb.