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Greetings. my fellow port swillers!

I hope you are all having a good Labor Day?  A sizable chunk of Ol’ Robbo’s, as I thought it might, wound up devoted to assembling furniture picked up by the Gels this weekend down to Ikea.  Specifically, I had to put together an eight-drawer dresser for the Youngest.

Ol’ Robbo has encountered bed-frames and nightstands from Ikea before, but Jumpin’ Jay Jehoshaphat!, this thing was in a class by itself: four long drawers, four short, and the frame that has to hold them.  Hundreds – hundreds – of screws, dowels, and locking nuts, to say nothing of the wood and all the runners,  Three long, flat boxes in all.

Plus, I had to deal with a 44-step instruction booklet full of extremely ambiguous illustrations. Fortunately, Ol’ Robbo spent a lot of his misspent yoot putting together model airplanes, thereby sharpening his ability to divine what is actually called for by such vague scratchings.   (They laughed and called me a nerd back then, but who’s laughing now, huh?  HUH?)

Nonetheless, the project took me something better than four hours to finish.   It also caused me considerable physical pain – I whacked my left forefinger with the hammer; my right hand is nearly frozen into a claw because I don’t have an electric screwdriver and had to do it all by hand; and I spent so much time bending, leaning, and twisting as I sat on the floor ‘mid my supplies that my back and abdomen feel like I’ve been doing yoga.

Heigh, ho.

Anyhoo, it’s all done now and the Gel was suitably grateful, as indicated by her unprompted, “Thank you, Puh-Parr.”  (That’s what she sometimes calls me.)

UPDATE:  For those of you, like Mr. G. Hand, who may be interested,  I should explain that “Puh-Parr” (accent on the second syllable) is a play on “Papa”, which she also sometimes calls me.  She does the same sort of thing on occasion with “Father”, which she turns into “Fawthuh”.   The Gel is imbued with a very large measure of what I might call vivacious breeziness, and this is one of the ways she amuses herself.   Now and again, this shades over toward outright insolence, but it’s generally so good-natured that I don’t check her until she’s actually crossed the line.  (“Robert” is never acceptable, even in jest.)

I should add that Youngest turns 16 in a few months but it only fairly recently hit me that The Dread Adolescence is running down for the last time (thank Heaven!) and I’ve got yet another young woman on my hands.




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September 2017