Day 160
Firstly, I guess I should forward a hearty vote of thanks to those readers who so kindly responded with a completed caption to yesterday’s invented slogan competition.
Some were quite amusing although I have to question the lucidity of the person who stated he’d like to spend a vacation with Mrs. Snowman “…because she sounds gorgeous”. Without wanting to seem too bold, I urge you to seek professional help before it’s too late.
Whilst remaining on the subject of my Dearly Beloved, she arrived home unusually late from work today and announced the reason for her tardiness was a visit to a DIY store where she’d purchased a new wardrobe. I could understand the reasoning behind buying it as her ever expanding clothes collection was starting to spill out into the street but was a little more perplexed when she told me it was in the car.
When she departed this morning she left in a small sporty vehicle so unless she’d traded it in for an articulated lorry over the preceding nine hours the only possible explanation was one to leave me diving for the Southern Comfort.
The new wardrobe was one of those self-assembly flat-pack things.
I opened the front door to see if my worst fears were realised and sure enough, there were a host of long angular boxes sticking out of every car window making it look like a robotic porcupine made by a small group of baby chimpanzees.
Having managed to drag them all indoors I rummaged around the kitchen for a while to find a pre-assembly beer with which to develop some motivation. Duly prepared and armed with the required stimulant I wandered back in to find Mrs. Snowman had already unpacked every individual component and spread them across the floor.
It didn’t seem to matter that not only was there a danger of Surrogate Daughter coming home with Small Child and adding to my problems. Also if I put the thing together in the living room there would be no way it would fit through the door meaning I’d be unable to transport it up the stairs and into the bedroom.
These thoughts became secondary when I took a glimpse at the instruction sheet.
I don’t know who compiles these legendary manuals but I’m convinced whoever they are have never been within a hundred miles of the source of their own product.
It was completely undecipherable and written in some kind of hieroglyphs that’s only translatable by only someone with a PhD in ancient languages.
Nonetheless, I took a couple of extra gulps and ploughed in.
After two and a half hours I’d managed to put the base together but used an incorrect screw that went straight through the side and was sticking proudly out of the front. The top didn’t go much better and needed a gutsy whack of the hammer to get the main panel in place. Sadly the impact forced a previously square corner angle into an oblique one but I countered this by thumping the opposite corner in the same manner.
It was at this point I decided to take the assembled parts and the remaining bits to the bedroom to complete my task. After clearing a space in the middle of a mound comprising of Mrs. Snowman’s clothing I tried to put the rest of it together. With the finishing line in sight I realised there were three screws but the manufacturers were kind enough to make up for it by putting in an extra five completely superfluous brackets.
Hmmmm….there wasn’t going to be a competed wardrobe without some fast improvisation, and then it came to me.
Superglue!
Twenty minutes later after I’d hung one of the doors up-side down and put a handle on the inside of a door, I’d rectified my errors and a very shambolic looking wardrobe was positioned next to the old one. I must confess, Dear Reader, I was feeling quite smug and even transferred a jacket to the new rail, left the door open and stood back to admire my handiwork. The current Mrs. Snowman had a perfectly serviceable piece of furniture…briefly.
About three seconds later it gave a little squeak of complaint, tottered on its base and collapsed into a large pile of wood in the corner of the room.
The wife immediately ran up the stairs six at a time to discover what was going on and found me on my hands and knees frantically trying to scoop armfuls of wardrobe.
She went mental.
In between screams, I figured out she would be somewhat conciliated if I were to telephone one of my friends to offer a friendly hand of assistance.
Well, her actual words were, “Get Tony round here right now or I’ll shove one of those fucking doors up your arse”.
Very colourful.
With the hours I spend watching my friend re-assemble the thing and the intervening time engaged in a shouting match with the wife I was unable to play any poker today. To be honest I wasn’t really in the mood for it anyway but might have a go tomorrow.
Providing, of course, Mrs. Snowman doesn’t decide to purchase a cabinet for the computer in the interim.
By the time I went to bed, the house contained a lighter atmosphere but if she decides on any more additions to the bedroom I’ll find some where that delivers ready made things and pay the extra. I’d also like to find out the bastard who wrote the assembly instructions for that bloody wardrobe although I suspect he’s probably in the furniture equivalent of the witness protection program, hiding from irate husbands and DIY enthusiasts.
And to my correspondent who wanted to spend a vacation with the wife? No problem, send me your address and I’ll send you a couple of tickets. Just remember to plug every orifice before you leave for the airport.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.67
Some were quite amusing although I have to question the lucidity of the person who stated he’d like to spend a vacation with Mrs. Snowman “…because she sounds gorgeous”. Without wanting to seem too bold, I urge you to seek professional help before it’s too late.
Whilst remaining on the subject of my Dearly Beloved, she arrived home unusually late from work today and announced the reason for her tardiness was a visit to a DIY store where she’d purchased a new wardrobe. I could understand the reasoning behind buying it as her ever expanding clothes collection was starting to spill out into the street but was a little more perplexed when she told me it was in the car.
When she departed this morning she left in a small sporty vehicle so unless she’d traded it in for an articulated lorry over the preceding nine hours the only possible explanation was one to leave me diving for the Southern Comfort.
The new wardrobe was one of those self-assembly flat-pack things.
I opened the front door to see if my worst fears were realised and sure enough, there were a host of long angular boxes sticking out of every car window making it look like a robotic porcupine made by a small group of baby chimpanzees.
Having managed to drag them all indoors I rummaged around the kitchen for a while to find a pre-assembly beer with which to develop some motivation. Duly prepared and armed with the required stimulant I wandered back in to find Mrs. Snowman had already unpacked every individual component and spread them across the floor.
It didn’t seem to matter that not only was there a danger of Surrogate Daughter coming home with Small Child and adding to my problems. Also if I put the thing together in the living room there would be no way it would fit through the door meaning I’d be unable to transport it up the stairs and into the bedroom.
These thoughts became secondary when I took a glimpse at the instruction sheet.
I don’t know who compiles these legendary manuals but I’m convinced whoever they are have never been within a hundred miles of the source of their own product.
It was completely undecipherable and written in some kind of hieroglyphs that’s only translatable by only someone with a PhD in ancient languages.
Nonetheless, I took a couple of extra gulps and ploughed in.
After two and a half hours I’d managed to put the base together but used an incorrect screw that went straight through the side and was sticking proudly out of the front. The top didn’t go much better and needed a gutsy whack of the hammer to get the main panel in place. Sadly the impact forced a previously square corner angle into an oblique one but I countered this by thumping the opposite corner in the same manner.
It was at this point I decided to take the assembled parts and the remaining bits to the bedroom to complete my task. After clearing a space in the middle of a mound comprising of Mrs. Snowman’s clothing I tried to put the rest of it together. With the finishing line in sight I realised there were three screws but the manufacturers were kind enough to make up for it by putting in an extra five completely superfluous brackets.
Hmmmm….there wasn’t going to be a competed wardrobe without some fast improvisation, and then it came to me.
Superglue!
Twenty minutes later after I’d hung one of the doors up-side down and put a handle on the inside of a door, I’d rectified my errors and a very shambolic looking wardrobe was positioned next to the old one. I must confess, Dear Reader, I was feeling quite smug and even transferred a jacket to the new rail, left the door open and stood back to admire my handiwork. The current Mrs. Snowman had a perfectly serviceable piece of furniture…briefly.
About three seconds later it gave a little squeak of complaint, tottered on its base and collapsed into a large pile of wood in the corner of the room.
The wife immediately ran up the stairs six at a time to discover what was going on and found me on my hands and knees frantically trying to scoop armfuls of wardrobe.
She went mental.
In between screams, I figured out she would be somewhat conciliated if I were to telephone one of my friends to offer a friendly hand of assistance.
Well, her actual words were, “Get Tony round here right now or I’ll shove one of those fucking doors up your arse”.
Very colourful.
With the hours I spend watching my friend re-assemble the thing and the intervening time engaged in a shouting match with the wife I was unable to play any poker today. To be honest I wasn’t really in the mood for it anyway but might have a go tomorrow.
Providing, of course, Mrs. Snowman doesn’t decide to purchase a cabinet for the computer in the interim.
By the time I went to bed, the house contained a lighter atmosphere but if she decides on any more additions to the bedroom I’ll find some where that delivers ready made things and pay the extra. I’d also like to find out the bastard who wrote the assembly instructions for that bloody wardrobe although I suspect he’s probably in the furniture equivalent of the witness protection program, hiding from irate husbands and DIY enthusiasts.
And to my correspondent who wanted to spend a vacation with the wife? No problem, send me your address and I’ll send you a couple of tickets. Just remember to plug every orifice before you leave for the airport.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.67
