Rocking the Romance

I have done a lot of shopping in the last two weeks. Gathering up all the things necessary to make a happy home in the 21st century. This meant, among other things, buying a TV for the very first time in my life (which I'm still waiting for The Dowd to come back and help me figure out the settings on), and buying a tool box. And some tools.

I don't have much in the yellow and black box yet: a hammer, an array of screwdrivers, a tape measure, and a box cutter, but hey, it's a start.

I've managed to hang quite a few pictures around the house, and am feeling a tad bit handier than a few days ago, but when I took my dinner and tool box upstairs to investigate just what was in the giant box that was delivered on Sunday, I was not overly optimistic.

Fortification

After using my trusty box cutter (thanks, mom) to open the box, this was the scene.

There are quite a few layers underneath

This is the helpful illustration of what the finished product will look like. (I know, I know, the irony)

Then I saw this directive. I felt somewhat unqualified.

And then this one! Oh no, what next? I am not 2 people. I hardly qualify as 1 when tools are involved.

But I decided to just dig in a wee little bit. I would simply try to get some of the myriad parts together, so when I tricked someone into coming over to help me finish the job there would be less to do.

I wrestled with that hex wrench, I wrangled with the hex key. My left index finger grew increasingly red and sore. But I had pretzels. And beer.

Before I knew it Two hours later, this is all that remained in that big box:

And this was gracing the southwest corner of my room.

 Plus I even have 2 new tools for my toolbox.

I rock.