We had a moment this week. A “some assembly required” moment – and you all know what that means.
To refresh your memories, what that means is a large amount of harrumphing coming from the general direction of Sir, and a Thelma and Louise type “git er done” attitude coming from me and our Little Hot Tamale friend from Springfield.
This then segued to Sir sitting out on the deck playing with his iPad, his phone, and possibly his navel, while Thelma and I (or is it Louise and I) struggled through the 12 pages of instructions, complete with 20 – I kid you not – 20 bags of assorted bits of what I presume was hardware.
I don’t know that we girls have the terminology quite right – “oh we need the curvy bit to the front”; “the footy things should be closest to you”; and “these have the holey bits at the bottom.” I don’t think those have ever been translated into Spanish and French as our instructions read, but with girl power, we knew exactly what we meant.
We did achieve doweling, screwing and camming quite well I will have you know, and soon our over the toot cupboard unit was taking shape. Truth be told, I probably should’ve just broken down and cleaned out the cupboard under the sink, thus obviating the need to buy an over the facility facility, but that would be just plain picky.
Sir managed to hide out on the increasingly hot deck until such time as his comfort with sweating was overcome by his need for a fan, so he tentatively made his way to the sofa, above which the overhead fan was whirring as if there was no tomorrow.
Do you think for a moment that Thelma (or Louise) and I thought to assemble the thing under the fan? Hell no – we did it in the hallway where the sound of dowelling, screwing and camming was accompanied by the regular plop plop of sweat pouring from our persons.
Sir sat in splendid comfort for a moment, and then his sense of butchness overcame him and he had to help. This was at the stage where we had the entire thing in an erect position, just requiring him to apply his wrist to the screwdriver (the little starry one, you understand) and finish off the tightening of screws to hold the back in place.
Muscling the furniture up into the spare bathroom without attaching the wall anchors – as I mean really – we don’t have kids running around, nor do we tend to have guests who feel the need to rip apart our bathroom, the device now sits in splendidness above the toilet. One good tug on the doors could indeed send it toppling forward, but one can only live in hope.
Our carpentry finesse, I fear, does not run to wall anchors.
I can see the hammer hitting the wrong spot, thus creating a large hole which would require us to call who?
The guy! We would have to call “the guy.”
Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.