Will wonders never cease?

I think my backyard gave Mrs. Jib and I an anniversary gift. No, I haven't tipped back one too many bottles of Leinie's tonight. A portion of our backyard is fenced in, and along the top of the fence are electric lights that are very similar to the solar landscape lights by Malibu, only they are brighter and give off a white rather than amber light. Our living room looks out onto this fenced in area, and one night about 3 weeks ago, Mrs. Jib noticed that the two lights to the left of our gate weren't on. So she sent me out to replace bulbs. The thing is, it wasn't the bulbs. There was no electricity going to these two lights. So I headed back inside and told her I'd look at it another day.

At this point, I need to give you all a little background information. Despite the slander Mrs. Jib likes to spread about me, I am quite handy. I'm willing to tackle just about any project around the house, especially if I can read up on it first. But electricity frightens me. I mean really frightens me-to the point that I'll curl up and suck on my thumb if pressed hard enough to work with it. It all goes back to the great ice cube nightlight debacle of 1990. In a class that year we were studying electricity, and one of our projects was to build the circuitry for our very own nightlight. We then suspended it in an ice cube tray, and a clear resin was poured in. Once it hardened, we had nightlights that supposedly were safe and long lasting. My Dad, who was the original slanderer of me, refused to let me use it, claiming that any handywork of mine was a fire hazard. See, he feared fire as much as I fear electricity now (and I'm still trying to figure out what stupid thing he did). So one night I snuck it out of his night stand drawer in order to see my handywork in action. I went into my bedroom and plugged it in. After a few moments of beaming over the greatest nightlight ever, I became underwhelmed by the whole thing and went to unplug it. The resin was a little greasy on its surface, though, and as I unplugged it, my finger slid off the resin to the metal prong-which was still plugged in. Fortunately, I did this as I was unplugging it, and the momentum of my hand cleared me of the jolt rather quickly. Still, I saw my short lifetime pass before my eyes (and oddly enough, visions of Wilson Phillips-well, Chynna and Wendy). After a stunned second, I had my first experience with the curl up and cry thing.

So I now have an unhealthy fear of electricity. But I love my wife very much, and she really wanted those two damn lights to work again. So every other day or so, I'd go out, jiggle the wires a bit, and then declare the case hopeless. Mrs. Jib has a short memory on things like this, though, so I've declared it a lost cause a lot. I had the problem narrowed down to a short, because the lights on the right side of the gate came off of the same power source, and they still worked. Everytime I thought about peeling back the electrical tape where the power split, though, I'd poo myself a little bit. It was getting to the point where I knew I'd have to disappoint Mrs. Jib and admit to her all of what I just admitted to all of you, or I'd have to resign myself to my fate and just do it, double checking my life insurance policy first. Then it happened.

I started to turn everything off downstairs tonight so I could head to bed. As I looked out the patio door, I gazed upon a miracle-the lights were back on, all by themselves. Mrs. Jib works third shift, and when she left for work tonight, they were not on. So I am standing by my story that this is our little 2nd anniversary miracle.

I did blow one thing, though. Instead of making up some story about how I had discovered the solution to our problem, I called Mrs. Jib, all giddy to tell her that the lights came back on all by themselves. A wise man would have made himself look good. As for me, I'm just glad I won't be pooing myself anymore.