Dresser Woes [Or, The Night that Netflix Won]

Yesterday I tried to build a dresser. It was going to be wonderful. I had this great plan. I even tweeted about it. I told people at work about my plan.

Thursdays are the day that my husband doesn’t get home until late, so I thought I’d build the dresser and put all the clothes in it, instead of their current position on the floor in piles [or not in piles, as the case may be], and set up the new bedside lamps and put pictures on the walls [which have been blank since my recent painting extravaganza]. Then, when my husband got home, I would surprise him. Oh, it was a lovely plan!

Being proficient in DIY is an important part of owning your own home. I thought to myself, what better way to practice DIYing than to DIY a dresser all by myself on a school night before dinner.

The first step to building any dresser is opening the box. I tried to move the box into a convenient opening and building location. It was too heavy. I thus decided to build the dresser in the living room, blocking the entrance from the kitchen to any part of the house. It would be built by the time anyone needed to access a bathroom, right?

I searched for our box-cutter, but when I came upon a steak knife first I decided that it was more than sufficient for opening the box. When I opened the box it contained all the pieces in a color much darker than I had expected – so dark, in fact, that I might decide not to paint it after all. I also decided not to use that steak knife for eating steak ever, ever again. The box did not seem like it came from a frequently cleaned warehouse.

There were approximately 543,459,305.21 nails and screws and other screw-like things and those special screwy things into which you screw screws. They were itemized in 14 languages on a piece of paper that contained 20 deceptively simple looking steps to build a dresser.

I couldn’t find a hammer, which the pictures strongly recommended, but I thought that the back end of my Phillips Head screwdriver would work just fine. It was heavy. I could hold on to the screwing part and swing it like a hammer.

One of the first steps included hammering little plastic pieces that are used to make the drawer slide in-and-out into the wood of the drawer. My screwdriver was insufficient. I narrowly missed my fingers several times and so I spent an additional 30 minutes searching the house for the hammer. I found it in the kitchen drawer where I had tidied it after I had last done household fixer-uppering.

After 15 minutes of very loud hammering the first step was done. 1 down, 19 to go! Then it came time to screw the front part of the drawers into the side pieces of the drawers. The picture of the screws that I was supposed to use looked like no screws I was in possession of, and so I took a guess and started screwing. Forty minutes and two blisters later I was done with the left side of the drawers. I couldn’t figure out how to make our special screwdriver go “righty-tighty” as opposed to “lefty loosey” and so I had to use the regular screwdriver and, at one point, nearly poked my eye out while rearranging my wayward pony-tail.

The next step also called for unidentifiable screws. Eventually, after much measuring and deliberation and comparison, I chose a screw and started to try to put it where it was supposed to go. I screwed it [despite my blisters] and it would not screw. I tried hammering it on the top a little and it would not hammer. I tried fitting the other options into the hole and they either disappeared or wouldn’t fit. I tried cursing the screws. I tried cursing the screwdriver. Neither was intimidated into fulfilling my request.

At this point my husband arrived home to quickly change his clothes before heading out again. My brother was riding with him. I’d been working on the dresser for over 2 hours.

They entered a house to see me, grumpily, sitting on the floor trying to force several different screws into several different holes with several different screwdrivers. I [in high-pitched tones] informed them of my troubles with the hammer, and my plan about the pictures on the walls, and I [tearfully] demonstrated to them the actions of the rebellious screws.

Then I moved all the pieces of the dresser to lean against the wall and made myself a bowl of pasta in alfredo sauce and watched Netflix.