Event: Home Improvement Project
Saturday I went to a cute antique store to look for a new piece of furniture. I decided the wood printed, cardboard covered, plywood book shelf I bought at Target like 15 years ago needed an upgrade. Besides, I don't read anyway, so why show off a bunch of books I've never read. The tipping point might have been when a friend stopped by and picked up "The Abs Diet for Women". If looks could kill, I'd be dead. And I'd have a six-pack.
Twelve feet into the antique store I saw it. My new console table. Ok, it's not a table, exactly. It's actually an old, wooden ironing board. I'm revealing a little about my taste in home decor. I like interesting pieces. The desk in my office is farm table that I got at an estate sale. I have a purple couch and a lime green arm chair. I also have a salt & pepper shaker collection in my kitchen. A wooden ironing board made into a console table fits right in. As I proceed to the check out with my $24 ironing board, I noticed they had two irons (probably made in the early 1900's) propped up as bookends. It's a theme! But shoot. That means I need books. I don't think the "Abs Diet" or "He's just not that into you" books will fit my theme, so I splurged and bought 3 old looking books. There's a good chance I will never read these books either, but at least I'll look smart. "Building Better English" written in 1955, "The Story of Ernie Pyle" written in 1950 and "The Saturday Evening Post" written in 1951. I'm all set.
Thrilled with my new purchases, I rush home to throw out my old bookcase and set up my new table. As I get it in the house I quickly realize I may have underestimated the space in which my table will fit. It's tight, but the length is perfect. The bad news is, I didn't realize that in order for an ironing board to stand up, the hind legs stick out a few inches on each side. SH&%$!&%!
The damn thing won't work because the leg on the left side keeps it from being flush against the wall, and the leg on the right side sticks out just enough to successfully trip anyone who walks in the door. At that moment, I felt a hunger, a fury, an anger that I didn't recognize. Maybe it was gas, but that feeling deep in my belly made me tear into that ironing board like Tim the Tool Man Taylor. I was ripping, hammering, unscrewing, prying, kicking, yelling, cutting, just about anything to disassemble those legs so they wouldn't stick out. Side note: Did you know that people in the early 1900's didn't use normal screws? This thing was welded together with bolts used on the Titanic, but that didn't stop me. Ok, actually it did. Who am I kidding. Despite my best efforts to use what wimpy tools I had, (I even busted out my pruning shears) I could not tear it a part. I did, however, manage to get a splinter the size of a surfboard. Neat.
The moral of the story is, I should have taken the ironing board to Home Depot and wait for the cute guy in the lumber department to help me rip this sucker a part and build a new one.
That will be my challenge for next week...