Dolores had lived next door to Mrs Grimmer for years. For years Mrs Grimmer would turn her bathroom light on three times a night. For years, three times a night, Mrs Grimmer’s bathroom light would shine over the boundary fence, across the lawn, and into Dolores’ high bedroom window. For years, Dolores had woken three times nightly.
And then, the impossible happened; one night the light didn’t go on. Dolores lay awake waiting and worrying. The next day she tapped on Mrs Grimmer’s door.
“Are you alright?”
“Of course I’m alright,” said Mrs Grimmer. She never was the nicest of neighbours. “Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Your bathroom light didn’t go on last night, and I thought I’d check.”
“I’m perfectly alright. There’s no need to go snooping around my house. I’m old enough to look after myself. Stop bothering me, you nosey-parker. If I want someone to meddle in my affairs, I’ll let you know.”
Dolores left. The thrice nightly bathroom illumination recommenced.
And then, the impossible happened; one night the light didn’t go off. Dolores lay awake waiting and worrying. The next day she did not tap on Mrs Grimmer’s door.
It’s amazing what a stroke can do. Sometimes you lie on the bathroom floor for days before you die.