Pass the hammer.

In an impulsive moment, I ordered new furniture via the internet.

I didn’t read the small print. OBVIOUSLY. No-one reads the small print.

Today a few packages arrived. Fabulous, I thought, thinking my sex toy shop was sending me new stuff to review.

Nope. A writing desk. A side-table. Two stools. All in a zillion pieces in a few flat boxes.

Beautiful packaging, sure, but what am I supposed to do with all this stuff?

I immediately emailed the guy in Cape Town.

‘Come on Mister. I gotta assemble this? You could’ve told me.’

‘It’s there Violet,’ he replied. ‘All on the site. ALL OVER THE SITE.’

It is Swedish style furniture after all.


I tried. I tried for hours.

I’m still trying. Screws, hammers, nails. A that has to join up with B that leads to C and you know, there is no fucking way.

I’m dying to be that woman who can do everything. Change a lightbulb. Fix the plumbing. Put up a bookshelf.


Read instructions.

But I have never been very good with instructions.  And I am good with some tools but not these kind of tools.

I was about to change my dating profile to say that I’m looking for a handyman instead of a husband.

But I’m also listening to my boys saying they’re not going to settle for anything less than an A in their exams.

And you know.  If they’re not giving up, neither am I.

Pass the hammer.  I’m going to finish this damn table.

Then I’ll look for a husband.

30 thoughts on “Pass the hammer.

  1. I consider Swedish furniture construction to be a very personal motivational experience. If I handled my career the way I handle putting that shit together, I’d be a billionaire. Soldier on, lady.


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