The Dance of the Sugar Plum Furniture

A spicy welcome to my latest follower!

Here's a nice new idea. The Zombie Co of USA (who else) make biodegradable Tactical Bleeding Zombie Targets (in a range of cross-cultural identities including aliens and wolves, bleeding, mutilating or exploding) for recreational shooters with a bit of cash. These life-size things are $90 a go, but bleed realistically when shot due to their spongy interior filled with red liquid. How long will it be until some Granny out for a walk calls in a cop-scramble "body of adult female under bridge with multiple gunshot wounds". Braaynz....

When I got back from school I discovered that 2 delivery teams had been to the house, both at the same time. We now had enough sofas in the lounge for 10 people, 7 tables and a pouffe (Lionel).

Bed 1 had 4 flat-pack boxes and the kitchen had a second Welsh dresser. But I didn't care, because I brought back a LittleMax with me. His mum tried to have the tour of the house while LittleMax and I escaped the really quite clutchy clutches of his little sister Maisie who likes to grasp my nipples for some reason. We ran around screaming, with lots of additional furniture to hide behind.

Once Nipster and Grapster had gone, two Germanic youths came to the door and tried manfully (Manfredly?) to take the old triple sofa in their estate car. It was not a pretty sight, they tied the boot down but there was lots sticking out the back. The Teutonic twosome failed to return for the matching chairs, but promised to come back tomorrow, what Germanic efficiency?

Then Bobert came to pick me up for Thursday park, venue was Yellow Plums again although Erin only stayed for 10 minutes. We ate lots of strawberries, played a lot of football, and didn't argue. Ben dropped me back and I discovered that the flatpacked boxes had turned into A) Anger and B) a chest of drawers.

We all know about IKEA and its plans to brainwash the world. Basically (as discussed previously) the instructions are for the little grey denizens of Asgard, not us humans. So you end up assembling, disassembling and reassembling your shelf in a desperate attempt to make all the little holes line up: by the end of it, you are as one with your shelving unit, know it inside out, and have a deep emotional attachment to it, even if you totally hated it while it was in the 37 bits and 463 assorted fitments stage. Thus when you think of IKEA, you only have a warm glow instead of the more accurate fizzing hatred.

This Corona wardrobe was similar, but made by workers whose first, second, and possibly third language was not English. The draughtsmanship of the instructions was equally dubious. But it was soon obvious to a man whose most recent bout of competitive carpentry was at prep school that the bits were wrong, not as per spec, 2 of the same instead of left and right, without the little drilled holes, etc. In fact, looking at the amount of brown tape on the boxes, this was probably already a customer return. Maybe the hapless warranty worker had received in the box with "Parts incomplete" ticket and moved it straight to the "Good inventory ready for sale" pile. So that was an hour of chapped kneecaps wasted.
We actually ate dinner in the dining room (?) as we still couldn't get into the lounge. Due to late-night drawer assembly I had to shower myself and go to bed manually.