Monday, June 30, 2008
Here it is in all its glory.
What’s even more amazing is that he was able to finish the assembly in about 15 minutes.
I didn’t know whether to be envious that he could complete the assembly in such a short time (it would have easily translated into 2 hours of Tootie time) or just be content that the project is done.
I picked neither of those options and decided instead to be completely overjoyed that we have a real, live desk in our office. Our computer and printer finally have a home instead of being nomads shuttled from place to place.
There’s only one slight problem. The chair is a little too short for the desk. In Husband’s very diplomatic way, he told me that when I sat at it I looked “like a kindergartener at an oversized desk.”
I would gladly keep the kindergartener look, if I knew it would guarantee me snack time, followed immediately by nap time.
But, since it won’t, we’ll be shopping for a new chair soon.
Thankfully, I’ve learned a lesson from the frustration known as desk assembly, and I’m happy to put Husband in charge of any assembly (and/or humiliation) that will be required for the chair.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
That time, my friends, came for me yesterday.
Husband and I purchased a much-needed desk last week, and yesterday it arrived. Up until then, our poor substitute of a coffee table had been the home for our laptop and my mound of books.
The desk came in a large box, with pieces requiring assembly.
[Note: The box says “quick and easy assembling” as the #1 reason to buy the product; the #4 reason is “clear instructions.” These words will be important later in the story.]
Husband dragged the box to the office, and he left for work. Though I can’t remember our exact conversation before he left, I think it went something like this.
Delusional Desk Assembler (me): Hey, maybe I can put this together while you’re at work.
Too-Hopeful Husband: Sure. I bet you could put it together with no problems.
Delusional Desk Assembler: Ok, I’ll go for it.
I started without any trouble. I breezed through the first few steps, which gave me a false surge in desk-assembling confidence.
In fact, I talked to my parents in the early stages of assembly, and I scoffed when they suggested that maybe Husband could help me later. Why would I need his help? If I can handle marathon training and Master’s classes, I can certainly handle the assembly of a cheap, simple desk.
But, then it started getting ugly. The pieces weren’t labeled correctly, and the poor excuse for a drawing did not help. The instructions taunted me, “It’s easy! Just use screw #111.” Except that none of the screws nor their packages are labeled, so all their numbers (“S2!” or “111!”) are completely meaningless.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur, mostly involving: sweating, cursing and yelling at the desk, picking up the instructions and then promptly throwing them on the floor in a fit of frustration.
After three painful hours, the electric drill finally stopped, and I couldn’t find the charger for it. (I won’t even go into how any project that requires the use of an electric drill might not be the project for me.) I decided to end my masquerade as a furniture assembler right then and there.
So, I’ll just say it: I am not smarter than the assembly instructions. It’s humiliating, but it’s true.
The “quick and easy assembling” proved neither quick nor easy for me. Just as the “clear instructions” were anything but clear to me. (I imagine the instruction-writers sitting around their already-assembled desks roaring with loud and evil laughter when they wrote those parts.)
The good news is that I put the overworked electric drill and the partially-assembled desk in Husband's capable hands. And I can safely cross “Rosie the Riveter” off my list of potential jobs.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
The perpetrators were much smaller than deer, but they were much greater in number.
Tiny little ants formed a long, black line on our sidewalk, each carrying away a piece of our plant. Had it not been our own plant, we might have found it comical. Actually, we did find it comical, but we still weren’t happy about it.
[Side note: Later we happened to catch a show on the Discovery Channel about this type of ants. Apparently they don’t eat the plant, but they use the pieces to grow some sort of...mold. To eat. Another reason to be glad you’re not an ant.]
Husband, because he’s nice, gave the ants a variety of special “drinks” to go with their plant pieces. We haven’t seen any ants since then.
The plant is still not looking too good. Perhaps the humiliation of being hauled away, bit by bit, was too much for it to take.
By the way, this is my third post about ants! Maybe this is more humiliation than I can take, too.