A picture of my nemesis.

Yesterday I decided that I was going to assemble my new crafting desk/table. The box was inconveniently in the walkway, and it was way past time to open that box and put the thing together. I planned to do it by myself, for two reasons: because I could, and because Chris was sleeping off his cold in the bedroom. Daisy assisted me in her capacity as Construction Dog* but since she doesn't have opposable thumbs, all she could really do was offer moral support.

Things were going fine until I got up to adding the slider for the drawer, and I discovered that the tiny screws used (of which there are about 50 used in various places) are made of cheapola metal, and that using a power screwdriver on them totally strips the head. So I soldiered on with a manual screwdriver, which also occasionally stripped the head. What the heck.

Many curse words were uttered, but I was resolute. I was going to finish the desk! I felt like even with having to do almost everything manually, I could probably finish it before bed if I stayed up a little late. I was feeling energized, partially by the great feeling of putting something together by myself, with no male intervention, and partially by the two liters or so of white tea that I had drank throughout the day, not to mention the holiday chocolate that I'm still working my way through.

And then -- disaster struck! The top of the desk/table features a little side table that folds down when not in use, thus taking up less space. I had already attempted to attach the main top to the base first, and then attach the side table, but this required upside down screwing, which the cheap screws could not withstand. So, as per the directions, I assembled the two-part hingey tabletop and prepared to place it on the base, which would require lining up 8 holes with their associated pegs.

The assembled tabletop was rather heavy and awkward, perhaps too much for a 5-and-a-half foot tall, 110 lb, pipe-cleaner armed young lady to handle on her own, but fueled by my pride and the success that I'd already have doing things All By Myself, I did not listen to the little voice that told me to ask Chris to give me a hand for a moment. Hey, the man was sick, I figured I should let him enjoy his video game, and I, being perfectly well**, could handle the grunt work.

Most of you already know what happened next, thanks to e-mail or my Facebook status. The hinging desk hinged, and pinched both of my forefingers. OW! My right finger got out of it with just a little pinch. My left finger, however, got a huge, nasty gash which is currently wrapped protectively in a magical pink-and-purple faerie bandage. And thus ended my desk-constructing dreams.

So now it's sitting, mostly completed, in my living room. But wait... is that a cat in that cubbyhole? It certainly is. Topher wasted little time in discovering that there was a perfect kitty-sized cave in the new desk.

*Daisy is a dog of many talents. She's also the Science Dog, the Cooking Dog, and the Laundry Dog. She pretty much likes to be wherever we are, and will sit there and watch very attentively, in case there is any dropped food or petting involved.

**Yeah, that didn't last. I woke up today and found that I had Chris's cold.