Warning: This post contains low-level coarse language and adult themes. Reader discretion is advised.
If you’ve popped by this blog at all in the past month, you’re likely aware of Smurf Kitchen and the happiness it brings to my life. What you may not know, however, is that the awesomeness of Smurf Kitchen has had an inverse relationship with the awfulness of the Wayfaring Chocolate Bedroom.
To put it simply, I looked like a squatter. I ordered a new bed from Freedom Furniture before moving into Smurf Kitchen Home, but it took several weeks to be delivered. As a result, I’ve spent the past two weeks sleeping on a mattress on the floor, with most of my belongings still in boxes around me. It’s been a little unpleasant.
Yesterday, my bed arrived. Or, more correctly, the fifty-seven billion pieces of my bed arrived. And with a confronting realisation I ascertained that, all my life, I’ve been pronouncing the store’s name wrong.
It’s not Freedom Furniture. It’s Freedamn Furniture. And I hate Freedamn Furniture with a fiery passion.
Before I go any further, I need to make a few things clear. My housemate is a furniture-put-togetherer extraordinaire. She had her own IKEA bed assembled in less than 20 minutes, and is well-versed in the art of instruction-manual reading. Furthermore, she and I are not stupid, we had no blonde moments, and we worked steadily and not-slowly from the minute we began cutting open the bed-piece-containing boxes until the second we pushed the mattress into place.
There were, admittedly, two tricky moments in which we were flummoxed by the bed’s instructions. One of these moments led to a swift retracing of steps, but even that only set us back five minutes.
So you’ve got my drift, right? We worked well. We worked quite speedily. We had no arguments, no freak-out time-outs, no moments of “this is impossible, I can’t go on, please tell my mother she can have all the spices in my pantry”.
Would you like to know how long it took us to assemble my brand-spanking-new bed?
Almost. Five. Expletive. Hours.
I don’t know which is worse: that this was such an horrifically complicated piece of furniture that two people working conscientiously took almost as long to assemble it as they’d spend watching Titanic twice over, or that the blasted thing looks like it’s the most simple piece of construction in the world. To wit: the headboard looks like a single piece, yet it involved no less than 12 different parts (not including the screws and dowels and rubber backing). And that’s just a taste of what we went through.
Instead of continuing on with my griping and risking boring you all with furniture-not-food, I’ll finish up by completing the sentence that is this blog post’s title.
The best companion for a Smurf Kitchen is a Skank Bed.
Because there’s no other word for something that requires 88 separate screws before it’ll let you go to sleep.