IKEA Must Die

Are those stigmata on your palm, or have you been assembling IKEA furniture?  The damn stuff arrives yesterday, finally.  Those bastards don’t even offer me any kind of chuparim to make up for the three week delay.  Still, it is here, so I gleefully start unpacking.

I start with the little coffee table, which is simplicity itself.  Then it is on to my office work surface, and that, too, is quite simple.  Then I start on the dining room table.  Oi, gevalt.

First, the darn thing is quite complicated, because it has extension leaves and a gazillion parts.  But what stops me in my tracks is that I actually don’t have enough physical strength to screw the pieces together.  There are several wood screws that are supposed to go into partially pre-drilled holes, but I can’t get them in.  After lots of sweat, huffing and puffing, and the start of two spectacular blisters on my palm, I give up and call a friend.  It takes the two of us to hours to do the table and the sleeper-bed chair thing. 

By the end, one of the blisters has ruptured, leaving a raw, red spot smack dab in the middle of my right palm.  I’m thinking that the first case of stimata might actually have been a devout Catholic trying to assemble some IKEA furniture without power tools. 

Time for some thank-yous: Yes, it is way overdue, but here is a partial list of those wonderful people who helped me through this period of shiputzim and moving:

  • Leah S: Rose petals tossed in your general direction for peeling wallpaper, spackling, hanging shelves, drilling holes, assembling IKEA furniture, making me laugh, and generally keeping me from slitting my wrists.
  • Gilah S: A gold medal for peeling wallpaper, scrubbing, prepping, more scrubbing, baling me out with a much-needed card table, and offering some excellent advice.
  • Cathy T: Assorted virtual chocolates for offering extended doggy daycare during shiputzim, plus accompanying me on that grueling and painful IKEA shopping experience (and keeping me from inflicting serious bodily harm on several IKEA employees).
  • Renee R: A sweaty hug for lending me you furniture, your kids, and helping me hang pictures.
  • Alex T: I grovel at your feet.  As Der Spachtel Meister who did more to help prep the walls and fix electrical stuff, you deserve at least a Nobel Prize in shiputzim.

There’s still more to do, but it is already a real home, rather than an empty shell of an apartment.  It is clean, fresh, and pleasant, and I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart.  Also thanks to all of my friends who kept me sane via phone calls, email, and just good thoughts!

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