The other day, about halfway through the process of hanging Christmas lights on the roof, I learned a very important lesson.

It happened as I was balancing on the peak of the roof. The sun was disappearing over the horizon, but I really wanted to finish. Looking around, I realized that I was surrounded by lights. So, being the clever fellow that I am, I called down to my wife for an extension cord.

She tossed one end up to me and I clambered carefully over to the end of the lights to plug them in.

Of the five lines I’d hung so far, one didn’t light up at all, and two others had dead patches.

Oof. 

There I was, standing on my rooftop as the sun went down, surrounded by faulty Christmas lights. C was riding his bicycle around the driveway. The neighbor’s Christmas lights were all turning on festively, and J was standing at the base of the ladder trying not to laugh.

I have a bad feeling that if anyone ever made a movie of my life, my part would be played by Chevy Chase.