Despite the fact that I ache all over from this morning's yard sale, I have spent the last two hours trying to put together my nephew's bunk bed. I would have been through an hour ago if I didn't have to go behind the dumb ass who put the bed together the last time--a.k.a. my father--and fix what he didn't do right. To make a long story short, that involves turning around every screw still left in the bed frame.
If my father had bothered to think--I'm excusing him from reading directions since my mom bought the bed at a yard sale, sans directions--he would have realized that the doodad that the screws go into needs to be flush with the outside of the frame so that little kids and adults alike don't scratch the mess out of themselves every time they walk by. Of course, the problem with my dad is that he never thinks. He's just does everything in a rush, just like my sister. That's how he broke off one of the crucial screws when he took the bed apart to move it back to my mom's house.
Seeing as my mom can't find her pliers, I have no idea how we're going to get the screw out, and it's part of the main support system for the top bunk. Because my father has used up his last few brain cells on his 10th midlife crisis as opposed to, say, thinking, my nephew could quite possibly fall through the top bunk in his sleep down to the futon below. Then I'll be the one who gets blamed for putting the bed together incorrectly, not the Toothless Wonder.
So like I said, read the directions. That's what they are there for, and think before you turn that screw so tightly that even the Incredible Hulk can't make it go "lefty Lucy."
