Numquam dormienti maritus titillare

It is 01:43.  I was going to have an early night and go to bed at 23:15.  Then I realised I still had a year 11 lesson to plan.  It took a while.  Then I remembered that Precociously Intelligent Princess;  Pip; has a party on Sunday and I have no present.  I have no money, no credit on any credit card, so I am limited to shopping at Next or Argos as I have store cards that I have not yet exhausted.  It's only a matter of time.

Shopping proved impossible, it could be the late hour but either I or the website has had enough and I decide to go to bed.  I fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and left the room, turning the lights off as I did.

The light switch didn't work.  No, not now, it's late.  I want to go to bed.  I don't want to continue spending £200 a month on our fuel bill.  I try it again, just to be sure.  It definitely doesn't work.  In a desperate act, I look around the kitchen as if expecting another light switch about whose existence I had forgotten to appear.  No such thing happens.

In a completely irrational move I then stand at the light switch and repeatedly turn it off and on again as if it will "catch" or suddenly work.  Nothing.

I am close to tears and no closer to going to bed.  I start to lean towards the cupboard and wonder how many fuses I would have to turn off before finding the correct one and what else would also disconnect.

There is only one thing left to do, and it is usually the first solution I turn to.  Wake up Dan.

Dan has been asleep on the sofa now for seven hours on and off, and the last thing he muttered as I told him that I was going upstairs was that he might do that too, but now he is snoring loudly, his head thrown back in an attitude of total abandon.

I know better than this.  I could leave him to sleep and let him discover it for himself when he wakes up and staggers upstairs at 3am.  The swearing would probably wake me up, but at least then it would be only the light switch and the universe's fault and not mine.

I think better of it and shake him gently awake.  Not too awake, just awake enough for him to remember that I have woken him in the morning when |I remind him of it.
  "I'm going to bed.  Andthelightwon'tswitchoff night."
I run up to bed, and hide under the covers.
The next morning the light is off in the kitchen.  I am too scared to switch it back on.  I dare to remind Dan of what happened the previous night.
  "How did you turn the light off?"
  "....I switched the switch."
I spend the rest of the day in the dark.