the "luxury accommodation"* that we currently call home has many lights (hence the luxury moniker). we have a ceiling light in every room (!) and several dust-gathering faux wrought iron table lamps. this is really exciting. especially when it gets dark.
when you have so many lamps, is it surprising that you pick favourites? and, on the flip side, is it surprising that there might be one light you simply cannot stand?
in the kitchen, we have a light i fondly** call "satan's ass" because it has a morbid wavelength that makes everything look like a month-old corpse fished out of the north saskatchewan river on a february monday. i hate this light as much as any person can hate an inanimate and terrible yet often useful object, which is saying something, although i have little idea of what that something might be.
the best thing about our many lights, aside from the sheer joy of excessive illumination, is that the electrician was either a wacky practical joker or drunk: the switches for the lights are nowhere near the lights themselves. the first few months found us turning things on and off randomly because of this. the switch in the kitchen turns on the living room lights; the switch in the dining room turns on satan's ass, and so on. this is fun.
*absolutely demands irony quotation marks: wave your fingers in the air for extra depth of understanding. you can also wink.
**by fondly, i mean not. more finger waving. you can wink again, if you want, but only if you want. i already routinely force people to spit, swallow, swish and move their heads around to suit me, and i would hate to abuse my power.