I have been sat in the living room at my parents house now for a good half an hour. My brother nor my dad has said a word to me, other than “what the fuck is wrong with you?” when my quest to get an ashtray went horribly wrong and ended with fag buts all over their half completed flat-pack furniture.
Flat- pack furniture. This is the reason for our lack in communication. In the past half an hour I have heard the words, “fuck pig screws”, “fucking great big screws”, “piece of shit”, and a few other variations including the word screw.
Why do we do it to ourselves? Flat pack furniture only ever disappoints, I don’t know a single person that gets home after an IKEA shop and smacks their hands together, slaps a massive grin on their face and squeals with excitement at the thought of a set of instructions patronising you for hours until you finally have to get rid of them and improvise. The worst part of my dads quest to build his new TV cabinet is that it wasn’t even from IKEA, it was from habitat, and it cost quite a lot. It even got delivered. Couldn’t they have built it THEN delivered it?
I will be very happy when this habitat-furniture-building-saga is over and we can all be asked five times each time we come round whether or not we like the new TV cabinet that took an age to build.
The building finally finished and the TV was added, the family living room all the more glossy and idyllic. My dad stepped back, sighed and said, “That was the hardest flat pack cunt I’ve ever done.”
Other stories you might like...
Click here for more stories about Life
Click here to follow Sabotage Times on Twitter
Click here to follow Sabotage Times on Facebook