Phoebe sat in her chair, trying not to stare at her husband. After all, it was really her problem, wasn’t it? Not his.

She knew Dave was a good man, a wonderful father. His children loved him. Everyone loved him. She loved him. They’d had 15 years of happiness.

There was only one thing wrong.

He was a table lamp.

Not all the time, of course. Just Tuesdays, from five until eight. A friend from work dropped him off home; at half seven she would walk down to the Venn machine by the mall to throw him back in to change back.

They’d agreed together. Fridays would be her night with the girls; Tuesday would be his night to be a table lamp. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t Venned herself. A couple of months ago she and her sister had gone off for a weekend at a country farm. They’d been turned into ponies and had a marvellous weekend trotting around the place. It had been a fantasy of hers since she was a little girl.

But wasn’t that it? She’d wanted to be a pony. So had her sister. So had half her friends. No one she knew had ever had a fantasy about being a table lamp. What kind of person did that?

And it wasn’t even like he didn’t make a good table lamp. He was quite handsome, if slightly too squat for her tastes. He shone brightly. She’d never needed to replace his bulb.

Over on the little table by the window, he sat proudly, alight.

It was half past six. She needed a drink.

*

“Have you asked him to try not being a table lamp?”

Her sister Chloe put on her best sympathetic look, as used at confessions of betrayal and the better class of funeral.

“Why?” Phoebe asked. “Why should I? Why should I deny him his little bit of happiness?”

“Because it’s breaking you guys in two.”

“No, Chloe. It’s not breaking us in two. It’s breaking me in two. I don’t think Dave has even noticed. He thinks things are just fine.”

“Phoebe, honey, you really need to talk to him about this.”

*

“Wow. Just … wow.” Dave stared at his wife. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realise.”

“Oh, Dave …”

“Of course I’ll give up being a table lamp. You, and the kids, and our family, you mean so much more to me than that.”

“I feel so bad. I shouldn’t ask you to do that, I know. It’s just …”
“But honey, before I do, will you do one thing for me? One thing? And then we’ll never speak of it again.”

“Anything.”

“Try being a table lamp with me?”

*

“I hope you guys know what you’re doing,” Chloe muttered to Phoebe.

“I hope so too,” she said.

They were standing by the Venn machine with Dave and Chloe’s husband Bill, who would take then home after the transformation.

“Hey, at least it ought to be illuminating!” Bill said brightly. It was the 60th lamp-related pun he’d used tonight.

Dave fed a dollar into the Venn machine, which whirred to life. “Phoebe? If you want to back out, it’s OK.”

“No, Dave. You’re right. I owe it to you to try to see what you see in being a table lamp.” Phoebe smiled bravely.

They kissed, then entered the machine.

*

“She makes a nice lamp,” Chloe murmured, placing Phoebe on the mantelpiece near Dave’s table. And she did. Where Dave was squat, Phoebe was slim and elegant.

“Here ya go, Dave,” Bill said, plugging the lamp in. “Hope I don’t turn you on too much! Ha!” I’ve still got it, he thought.

*

Eight hours later …

“Dave?”

“Phoebe!”

“Oh, Dave, I never knew …”

“I know. It’s …”

“Yes, it’s …”

“Wow.”

“Just … wow.”

“I just wanted you to feel …”

“Oh, I know. Thank you. Dave … it’s perfectly OK for you to keep being a lamp. If you want.”

“Phoebe, that means so much to me. I …”

“Only …”

“Only?”

*

“There you are, Phoebe. Back in your usual spot,” Chloe said brightly. “We’ve got the kids overnight. Just remember, in return for us taking care of you every fortnight, you look after our kids so we get to our life painting classes.”

I don’t know why the hell I’m talking to a lamp, she thought. Well, maybe it would have seemed rude not to. It was her sister, after all.

Bill flicked the lamps on. “Turn on, tune in, drop off! Am I right?”

And the two table lamps shone together in companiable silence.