This year I decided I wanted to change the outside Christmas lights. You know, part of my "everything must be just slightly different this year" strategy. We've always done red and green outside and on our tree in the front window, so this year I chose white and blue instead. My Beloved calls it the Hanukkah house.
Whatever floats your boat.
Anyway, the tree inside is white and there are white snowflake lights hanging from the porch roof. The rest - the roofline and the little tree in our front yard - is done in blue. I bought those cool LED lights - the ones that use a fraction of the energy of regular lights and have a beautiful deep royal blue glow at night.
I was happy with the effort. It's understated but enough for this year, under the circumstances.
I've always loved the coziness and cheer of Christmas lights, so I've been leaving them on all night since, with the exception of the white snowflakes, the lights use so little energy.
But all that changed yesterday. My Beloved got a notice in the mail that the blue LED lights are faulty, and as such are also considered a fire hazard.
Well of course they are.
The gods are laughing at me again. If you listen closely you can hear the snickers.