We don’t have the best track record when it comes to shopping for or installing light fixtures.

I was reminded of a past trip to Rona when Greg’s curiosity couldn’t be contained as he leapt to grab the dangling cord from a ceiling fan which swept all four hundred similarly hung fixtures and started spewing broken glass from nearby chandeliers.

This weekend, we decided to swap out our builders original drop light hanging over our kitchen table and upgrade to something a little less aluminum foil-esque.

I should have known when Greg started the project with “I’m not an electrician” a phrase that would grow tiresome and be accompanied by a number of eye rolls from the person hoisting the fifty pound poorly made lamp above her head we might be in trouble.

We started to hang the beast after pressing play on the movie How To Train Your Dragon to keep the kids occupied. In typical Greg-the-non-electrician-fashion, he fully expected to be watching the movie alongside the kids, sharing a bowl of delicious popcorn missing only the opening credits because this thing, despite his non-electrical background would be a breeze to install.

Wrong.

I knew when he had soaked through shirt number one just assembling the three glass and two iron pieces that were meant to slide easily together like a puzzle for age 9 months and up, we were going to face some issues.

Shirt number two, pronouncement, “I am not an electrician” he anxiously awaited the game of telephone, me yelling to Hanna who would then yell to Greg from the back room in the basement as he flicked each and every switch on the fuse box before turning off the one boldly labelled “kitchen dinette.”

Shirt number three, up the ladder he climbed now in the dark. If it wasn’t obvious already, you should always install a new light fixture during daylight hours. We might have thought of this if either of us were electricians but I was reminded repeatedly, we were not.

I was asked to help Greg “just for a sec” which is never just for a sec and in this case lasted the duration of How To Train Your Dragon.

My job as unpaid, unappreciated, mime-stuck-in-a-box assistant was to hold the glass and iron fixture above my head while Greg wiped sweat from his brow and carefully examined what appeared to be three distinct cords for several minutes at a time. Only when my arms would shake, knees would buckle and I would begin to black out was I permitted a twelve second shake-it-off break.

My concern and fear for both of our lives became more like something from the Darwin awards when Greg suggested while he screwed the long post into the ceiling, I twisted the light in an equal and opposite direction with great speed. It seemed like the right thing to do for two non-electricians, sweating profusely trying to catch a glimpse of how this young boy was able to train such a vicious dragon in what would wrap as a rather sweet story of friendship.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise then, the first piece of three glass panes made a pinging sound and cracked up the centre mid-scrambler spin and shortly after the cords burst from the post into colourful entwined sprigs.

The good news is, we got to spend Father’s Day in the returns and exchanges department.

At least now we’ll be able to hang it during the day.