Let there be light

So I there are four light bulbs in my bathroom, and for the past six months or so three of them have been burnt out. So the bathroom lighting has been provided by one brave, solitary bulb. It gave the bathroom a 1970s atmosphere, like an old photograph, where everything is dim and had a tinge of burnt sienna. Since studying for the bar exam affords ample opportunity to procrastinate, I decided to replace the bulbs. When I first moved into my apartment my mother had bought me these new special lightbulbs that were only supposed to filter white light so you can see the "true color" of things. I had three of them, so I decided to use them. The bathroom went from being soft and beige to being dazzlingly white---and appallingly filthy. It was like I had never cleaned the place, ever. The new bulbs revealed that the true color of my bathroom was not cream: it was dirty.

In the middle of the night, I got up to go to the bathroom. I had forgotten about the new bulbs and turned on the light. I was instantly blinded by what seemed to be a giant lighthouse bulb above my bathroom mirror. It was like that scene in Christmas Vacation, when Clark W. Griswold finally gets the lights on his house to work and it blinds the next-door neighbors, who end up knocking over expensive wine glasses and a glass tabletop, except I was running into the counter over and over again, stubbing my toe and flailing my arms about while I pulled down the shower curtain and knocked various toiletries from the counter into (ironically) the toilet.

The casualty list included a bottle of Candy Apple body spray, an eyeliner pencil in Pewter, and a box of Kleenex.