There’s a lot to be said about a marriage that can withstand the construction of flat-pack furniture.
Psychotic cats pouncing out of the boxes everywhere.
Kids filling the bath with slime and sneaking off with chocolate.
It’s like this voluntary phase of Hell we insist on entering at random intervals, just to see if we can still slay the dragon.
Although we know what we are in for as we arm ourselves with Allen Keys and screwdrivers, like warriors preparing for battle, we can’t help but feel the tension rise as the first box is sliced open. Knowing that it all boils down to sheer will and stubbornness.
It’s the flat-pack, or it’s us.
No mercy, and no survivors.
Today, after an epic battle, here we are, still standing; backs aching, tempers frayed.
Today, we won.
(And our study looks very pretty).
Who’s been doing some house projects this weekend?