And God looked upon the light and pronounced it good. And a litmus test.

I remember well the first fight that interrupted our marital bliss.

My Man claims that it was about broccoli - I love it, he hates it - but it wasn't.

It was about the very deep and profound subject of LIGHTBULBS.

But before we get into that, an introduction: This is my dad.

My dad is the all-knowing god of the computer realm. (Translation: I really can't tell you what he does for a living.) He also happens to be Mr. Fixit Extraordinaire.

Dad installs carpet and wood flooring, tiles kitchens, knows how to rework the plumbing on the bathroom sink or dishwasher and redid our roof to boot. He's knocked down walls and rebuilt them, and knoweth the 'thou shalt nots' of electrical wiring.

I took it for granted that all dads do that sort of stuff.

So when the first lightbulb burnt out in the first hallway of our first homestead, I patiently waited for my own personal Mr. Fixit to replace it.

And a week of darkness went by.

I got more and more frustrated that he was neglecting such an obvious part of husbandship. Truly, didn't he NOTICE the gloomy globe of outer darkness hanging above our heads? Finally, in exasperation, I berated him for not fulfilling his duty as resident All Things Maintenance Man.

And that's when I learned that my mother-in-law was the MRS. Fixit in the My Man household.

He'd been waiting for ME to change the lightbulb!

Thus ensued many years of re-defining our roles of who-does-whats in our abode. 'Cuz household duties aren't outlined in The Family: A Proclamation to the World. So many of us naturally think that the way our parents did it is THE WAY IT IS.

And it isn't. It's whatever we WANT it to be.

So we each have our own 'deveres de casa' now (or 'musts of the house') -

And at this very moment there are about eight lightbulbs that need changing.