Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

So I had a wonderful experience last night. To tell the story properly, I must give some background. Our basement has been in a state of remodel for the last ten years. (See here for bathroom story.) Two years ago, my dear husband finished framing the walls and I got my storage room back. I painted it and filled it with boxes and general clutter. The only problem was that he never finished the light for the room. So we've had electrical wires hanging out in two places on the wall right inside room. Wires that weren't covered with those cute colored electrical caps. (Can you see where I'm going with this?)

Last night, I went to store some shoes for Sunshine and I guess I hit against the wires with my hip, and there were some sparks, and, well, my pants caught on fire. Not badly, but how bad does it really have to be? It melted a corner of my pocket and blackened a nice area on my favorite capris.

I was a little upset. I called my dear husband and left him a voice message. I'm guessing that I sounded pretty pissy because when he came home he headed for the basement and fixed the light.

So, guess what? I have a light in my storage room! It only took two years and one hour. And a sacrificial pair of pants. Yeah!