I hate this. Mentally defeated by a three piece bed frame. The simplest of household assembly tasks. The bunny slope of DIY projects has K-O’d my self-reliance, leaving it crumpled in a ball of humiliation.
It’s not like I was trying to perform my own angioplasty or fold a fitted sheet. I’ve learned not to tackle big stuff. This is a straightforward bed frame, one that didn’t come with instructions because the manufacturers assumed that even a developmentally delayed chimpanzee could figure it out.
But I couldn’t.
I wanted James to return from his business trip and be all impressed that I’d put it together by myself. He’d tell me how smart and resourceful I am and I’d bask in his approval. Now he’s going to come home and give me the same look he gives Katie when she leaves a dead possum on the door step. The look that says “I appreciate what you were trying to do, but now this 10 minute job is going to take two hours and a trip to Home Depot just to sort out your mess. Thanks, I guess.”
Years ago, when I’d fail at a household project, I’d just go out and buy a box of pinot grigio to drink away my feelings of stupidity, or exchange them for a different variety.Wine would make it better. The act of consuming it from a bulk-sized cardboard container with a spout made me feel economical and environmentally conscious. The box would eventually go into recycling, which was my way of helping save the world.
James would come in, tired and jet-lagged, from Seattle or Spokane or Walla Walla to find me stumbling among dozens of ceiling fan parts and singing old REM songs.
“What’s going on here?” he’d ask hesitantly.
“I’m saving the world,” I’d reply matter-of-factly.
I don’t do that anymore, though. I mean, there just comes a time in life when you decide to choose sobriety… and oscillating table fans.
And then there was the time I hung up our new cypress porch swing using ornamental plant basket chain. (Who’d have thought that it comes in different grades? I mean, chain is chain.) Satisfied with a job well done, I proudly sat down to rock a few minutes.
It took three microseconds for the thin metal links to admit defeat. I didn’t land gracefully.
I could share a few more stories along the same lines, but I won’t. It’s time to end this “Poor me, I’m a moron” pity party and go back upstairs for Round Two of Angela vs. Bed Frame.
Cut me and squirt water in my mouth. I’m going back in.