I would have been able to put this crud-bucket potting bench together in about 10 minutes. As it turns out, I am not. Actually my grandfather, and his father, and as far back as I can tell all my maternal forbears were carpenters. Possibly as far back as Jesus. Not exactly sure but seems likely. But I did not get those genes.
I ordered this potting bench to put outside my back door for various and sundry reasons, and because I had a hundred and one other things to do, I decided not to wait for Husoor, an engineer by training, and put it together alone.
I am not handy.
It came with its own tool. This. One. Dollhouse. Screwdriver. If I’d have had to use that to screw it all together I’d have thrown myself off the garage roof (or waited for His Excellency to get home) but I had an electric drill which made the task considerably easier. Which is to say I was able to take it apart and put it back together incorrectly two or six times with ease until I got it into a semblance of order. And in the process got hundreds of micro-slivers from the cheap pine.
A porpoise would have been able to put this together in a fraction of the time it took me and they would not have gotten all the micro-slivers in their fingers since, well, they don’t have them.
This showed up in my instagram feed that night. It about sums it up for me.