Rome wasn’t built in a day, but I’m almost certain that it was finished considerably quicker than the two fiendishly complicated flatpack wardrobes I had to put together this weekend. And put together all on my own, I might add (sniff). I even allowed myself a wry smile when it came to moving the half-finished wardrobe into its upright position, as the instruction leaflet screamed “PLEASE SEEK THE ASSISTANCE OF ANOTHER PERSON AT THIS POINT!” Well, what was I supposed to do? Shout out of the window at a passing pedestrian to see if they could spare me half an hour of their time?
I’ve come to the conclusion that, like so much else in this cruel and heartless world, flatpack wardrobes aren’t intended for single people. It’s yet another conspiracy against those of us who aren’t in a couple, like mortgages and dinner parties. Or something.
Of course, part of the problem with these two flatpack wardrobes from hell, which I believe required an engineering degree to construct swiftly and successfully, was that they didn’t come from the ubiquitous and all-conquering temple to minimalist interior design that is IKEA. Unlike the last time I was buying furniture for a new flat, on this occasion I had neither the time nor the inclination to hike all the way to my local Swedish enormo-store and then work out how to get my purchases home without a car. Besides, as we all know, IKEA is just another element in that aforementioned worldwide conspiracy against the unattached, and it exists solely for the purpose of making the lone shopper feel bad as they attempt to navigate one of the industrial-sized trollies round the self-service aisles.
I’ve learned my lesson now, however, because I’ve realised that whilst the building of these particular wardrobes required more tools than I think I’ve ever actually possessed in my entire life, not to mention a fair amount of brute force to shove one part of the wardrobe into another part where the holes provided were far too small, the lovely products from IKEA usually seem to require nothing more than a screwdriver and possibly a rudimentary knowledge of how to hammer a few nails into some wood. Any fool can put an IKEA item together — even me.
So after almost two solid days of high intensity screwing (no, please, don’t applaud the pitiful innuendos), I now have blisters on my fingers. That was my weekend. I think I need a week off now.
(Oh, and next time I move home, remind me not to even consider accepting any property that doesn’t have built-in wardrobes. Life really is far too short to spend hours getting thoroughly confused by impenetrable flatpack instruction manuals.)