I am woman...
Monday, Sept. 15, 2003, 12:14 p.m.

Not last night,
But the night before,
Twenty-four robbers...

Oh, wait, sorry, that's not right.

[Ahem.] Not last night, but the night before I put together a bookcase. It was just a small one, about hip height. Anthony was at class and, in order for the unpacking to proceed, there had to be somewhere to put all those books. I looked at the compact box with some trepidation. After all, the last time I put something together, or even used a hammer was probably my sophomore year of high school. And then I thought, I can do this!

So, I sat down, looked at the directions (repeatedly) and started assembling, screwing, and hammering away. (I guess I'm obligated to mention that all holes were pre-drilled...) Within about 15 minutes, I proudly surveyed my almost complete bookshelf, thinking, "I am woman! Watch me read directions! Raaah! [That would be my pathetic attempt at a roar.]"

I quickly proceeded to finish up the last bits, incidentally smashing my index finger with the hammer. I stood up the bookcase and...

...

...looked at it in dismay. Although I'd followed the directions quite well, I had pictured in my head the way it would look instead of, you know, taking a peek at the picture on the outside of the box. (Who knew the guard rail was supposed to go on the bottom???) So the finished sides of the boards were facing the wrong way (toward the floor) and I could see the back side which was unsanded, unfinished, and definitely unvarnished. I sighed and began taking the stupid thing apart as minimally as possible, hoping to salvage some of my phenomenal put-together time.

Unfortunately, because I was hurrying, and because I didn't completely detach the back piece, when my hand slipped in trying to turn one of the shelves around, I managed to completely smash my ring finger and pinky. Of my right hand. (Did I mention that I'm right handed?) After several other similar mishaps, and approximately 45 minutes, I finally, proudly, surveyed my new bookcase. I had just started loading books (somewhat gingerly, I'll confess) onto the shelves when Anthony got home. I stood up and gestured toward the book case.

"Hey! That looks great!"

I laughingly (but not jokingly, I would like to point out) told him that, had he responded any other way, he'd have been a dead man. Then I held out my poor, smashed fingers to be "awwed" over.

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