A little groan rumbles out of me when I unwrap gifts that require assembly.
There are always instructions, that I tend to call "destructions."
My poor wife knows she cannot be in the house (or the neighborhood) when I force myself to spread out a project and begin to decipher the "instructions."
I am a guy. I am supposed to be good at putting things together. I should enjoy doing things with my hands. But usually what I want to do with my hands involves someone else's throat.
After I begin the simple task of assembly, here is what will happen: