‘The Wicker Man’

The event of yesterday played out in my head much more comical and chaotic before it happened than it actually was.

We bought furniture for our sun room. Online. As in, assemble it ourselves.

Anyone without a mechanically inclined background who has had to assemble IKEA furniture or a child’s playset knows the struggle that can ensue from tightening nuts and bolts with a flimsy tool (conveniently included) while following illustrations that not only appear to have skipped 18 steps at a time, but were also likely drawn by the company CEO’s toddler. Having previously put together a simple table for our porch myself, I imagined an evening of confusion, mayhem and memories we would laugh about (but probably not at the moment) when the furniture arrived at our home yesterday afternoon.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that we didn’t shell out big bucks for this furniture. We spend most of our time on Cory’s old futon in the sun room – well, we kind of had to, since it was the only piece of furniture out there – so we didn’t feel like we could justify paying high dollar for a furniture set that will only be used a handful of times when we have anyone over at the house.

Let’s just say that Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey aren’t exactly the socialites of Bowling Green. So cheap furniture will probably last us several years.

The website sent me a text to inform me that the furniture had been delivered, and it just so happened that Cory had gotten home from work right about that time. When I got home, my big strong man had battled with the bargain wicker lounge set on his own and had it all set up in the sun room.

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Beloved futon not included in this set.

Now, I’m not one to name names and publicly complain about a business, so let’s just say this furniture came from a website known as…Fairway.com. Cory flipped the chairs over and showed me where it was impossible to get some of the bolts to reach all the way through the holes that “matched up” on two pieces, unless there was some Magic Bolt-Lengthening Powder included. He also offered me a free demonstration of how to keep the furniture from wobbling when sitting in it.

I’m vaguely certain the furniture was supposed to be almost black and not so toy-Army-man green, but, hey, you get what you pay for.

So yeah, Cory did it all and had us a little quasi-outdoor retreat prepared by the time I got home. He didn’t have to do that. He could have just left the box in the sun room for me to cry over that evening (or, more likely, a few days or weeks from now when I feel like tackling such a project). I’m a procrastinator on stuff like that. Cory knows this about his wife, so that’s why we have furniture ready for guests now rather than April 2023. Also, Cory is a welder and looks at holes all day long, so that automatically makes him more qualified than the spouse who sits in an office all day.

My husband, the Wicker Man. Not to be confused with the unsettling British film or the critically and publicly despised Nic Cage remake.

If you were expecting a moral to this story or a larger lesson or observation, I’m afraid I disappointed you. Like I said, it played out much calmer than I had expected. From what I can tell so far, marriage does that a lot: just happens all normal and stuff.

Also, to our friends who may visit: don’t move too much when you sit down in one of the new sun room chairs.

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