Having recently moved into a new home, I have been tasked with assembling the new furniture. Knowing the difference between a flat head and phillips screwdriver I figure no big deal.
I start with a black faux leather futon bought from Wal-Mart for a ridiculously low price. Destined for my three kids to lounge on and, as history has shown, destroy. Until the three year old hits puberty, expensive furniture is not in my future. Other than the overall weight, assembly was pretty simple. A few bolts, screw on the legs, flip it over and voila I’m done.
Feeling full of myself, I decide to tackle the new dining room table and chairs. I unpack several pieces, and more pieces, and yet more pieces. Slightly nervous, I carefully set all of it on the tile floor in the dining nook. It seemed perfectly reasonable to assemble where it would perform it’s domestic duty but every time I stood up to get another part, I bashed my head on the low hanging chandelier. You would think after the third time of slamming my head into the silly thing I would remember it was there. Nope.
The first chair took no less than two hours to assemble. Yes, you read that correctly. Two freaking hours. I put it together backwards, then disassembled it, and reassembled it correctly until realizing I was missing two flat washers. The washers were not missing, but actually stuck to washers I had already tightened. Interject quite a bit of cussing, before I disassembled it again, unstuck the washers, reassembled it again, and was finally finished. One chair done. Three more and the table to go.
I figured the next chair would be a breeze since I made it through the first one. I thought this because I am an optimistic, misguided fool. It turns out the second chair included a leg that was mislabeled. The little white sticker said it was a left, when it was actually a right. It took an hour to figure that out. During this time, I am quite frustrated and text every single man I know offering to trade naked pictures of myself for help assembling this furniture. No takers. They have assembled enough furniture to know better. I am on my own, just me and my now quickly declining moral values.
Tenacious, I sit on the kitchen floor, surrounded by chair parts and tools, trying to figure out some other way out of this mess. The idea of a sign for the front yard hits me. It will be simple, to the point and read “Willing to Trade Sex for Furniture Assembly. Inquire Within”. Somebody should stop and help me for sure. It seems like a great idea and I take a moment to ponder it. Pondering also enables me to avoid putting together the next chair a few more minutes. As the idea sinks in, it becomes apparent my sign might yield the help I am longing to have; however, I probably don’t need to be labeled the neighborhood harlot the first weekend I live here. Too bad, it was a good idea.
During my 8 hours on the kitchen floor, I learned assembling furniture is not on my ‘fun’ list and moral values hold some importance. To protect them it would be best to only purchase furniture assembled from this point forward. And, have it delivered.
The story ends happily as I did finish the dining set and managed not to pimp out my body in the process. Deserving a quick break, I walked out in the front yard for a bit of sunshine and fresh air. The sky was dark blue, a soft pink rose has finally bloomed, and the grass was really lush, long and green. Wait. The grass is really, really long and green. Much longer and greener than the neighbor’s grass. My heart sinks because it’s time to mow the lawn. In my world, mowing the lawn is right up there with assembling furniture. Now…where did I put that stuff I need to make a sign?