Boxes

I borrowed a coworker's van for the weekend so I could pick up our crib and glide rocker. The massive square one is the crib. It was impossible to lift, so I shoved it out of the van and rolled it across the driveway, up the cement steps, up the porch steps, and in the door, thunk thunk thunk, like a deeply flawed early prototype of the wheel.

The glide rocker box is the smaller one in the picture, and that one I spun on my finger Globetrotter-style as I tap-danced into the house.

Upstairs, I put together the glide rocker, which involved four screws and an Allen wrench. Thing is, I lost a screw. I searched all around our barren nursery, under the rug, along the base boards, everywhere. It was maddening because there was nowhere for it to roll off to. It was then that I found it stuck to my ass.


My wallet has a magnetic clip for cash. And now screws. I felt pretty awesome. "Where the hell is that screw?! Oh, stuck to my magnetic ass." Studly.


But all's well that ends in a comfortable chair. Tomorrow we'll put together the crib. Hijinks will ensue, I'm sure.