ZZZZZAP

We are having electrical problems at home. It all started in the master bedroom. The light began to flicker. We changed the bulb but that did not solve the problem. Then the light in the master bath started flickering, and then a light in the basement underneath the bath and bedroom began flickering, too. See, the lights flickered at the same rate and with the same pattern. Logic states that all three lights must be connected and being effected by the same problem, right?

Not according to my husband. According to my husband it was the ground wire in the master bath and once that was fixed the other two problems would mysteriously fix themselves.

So he turns off the breaker to the bathroom and *gasp* all three lights are on the same breaker! What a coincidence. He discovers that there is nothing wrong with the ground wire, therefore it must be the breaker. Nope, not the breaker, either.

Let's state a few facts here:
My husband does not have a degree in electrical engineering.
I do not have a degree in electrical engineering.
Our house was not build by us, so we have no idea how it was wired together.
The ground wire and breaker appear to be just fine.

So, my conclusion is to throw in the towel and seek help. His dad knows a lot of people who know a lot about electricity. My husband's conclusion? A couple of months ago I was getting dressed and lifted my hand into the path of the bedroom ceiling fan. (Yeah, it hurt.) That small jarring must have pulled/loosened a wire and that is what's causing the lights to flicker.

Uh-huh.

Let me just tell you something about my husband. He does not listen to logic sometimes. Sometimes he is so damn stubborn that he will not listen to anything anyone says and has to find out that they are telling the truth by trial and error. Enter into evidence Bushka, my old red Celica. She had lived a hard life and was dying a slow death. I came home one night and said to hubby, "Something is majorly wrong with Bushka."

"Oh, now honey, I'm sure it's nothing. I'll drive your car to work on Monday and prove to you that not only do you know nothing about cars, but that you are overreacting to some silly little problem." Pat, pat (that's him patting me on the head). So Monday rolls around and hubby drives car to work. That night he comes home and says, "There is something majorly wrong with your car!" Color me surprised.

He does this all the time.
Me - "The dohicky is broken."
Him - "Oh, it's not the dokicky, its the thingamajig."
Me - "No, its the dohicky."
Him - "It's the thingamajig, I know it." ~time passage~ "Hey, it's not the thingamajig!"
Me - "No, it's the dohicky."
Him - "Hmmmm, then it must be the whatchamacallit."
Me - "It's the dohicky!"
Him - "No, no, let me just get this...oh, it's not the whatchamacallit."
Me - "No shit! Maybe that's because it's the dohicky."
Him - "No, it's not the dohicky. Let me get this, see...it's not this. Well, let me try that. Hey...oh, it's not that either. Okay, I'll check the dohicky just to show you that...oh, it is the dohicky. Wow, who would have guessed."

If I were single I would have called in a professional now and had the problem fixed. Alas, I am not single and I must wait until my husband has exhausted all other illogical conclusions before he bites the bullet and admits he doesn't know what's wrong and he can't fix it. With our luck I just know, KNOW that it's going to be something expensive.

If by chance my hand can cause major electrical problems by merely touching a ceiling fan I will publicly apologize to hubby in this here blog.