"It'll take a Saturday." That's what the girl at the Lifetime store says when I ask how long it should take to assemble the shed I was about to purchase.
Before I let her swipe my credit card, I probably should have rephrased the question--"How long will it take me to assemble this shed?"
If she could have seen the future, she would have replied:
"It will take me 15 minutes, with the help of a forklift, to get the shed loaded in the back of the truck that you borrowed from your dad..."
"Your tailgate won't close, so you'll be nervous about driving home, so you won't take the freeway, and it will take you like an hour to get back home..."
"It will take you a couple of trips to Lowe's to buy wood and gravel to build a base for the shed (only to give in and just decide to put the stupid thing directly on the ground..."
"Then it'll finally be time for that "Saturday," so you'll have to invite your brother-in-law over to help you (he put his together all by himself in an evening)..."
"It will be going pretty well, but then he'll have to leave for his kid's football game..."
"And then your parents will come over to help. Your mom will see you taking pictures and threaten 'If you put this on your blog...'"
"The pieces will only almost-fit and it will be a hugely, hugely frustrating experience, but you'll get so close to being done...and then run out of daylight..."
"And then you'll have to wait until Monday and the last piece won't fit and you'll run out of daylight again..."
"And you won't be able to stop thinking about what in the world you're doing wrong..."
"And your brother-in-law will come over again and notice you forgot a piece from page 8 of the 150 million-page instruction book..."
"But he'll know how to fix stuff..."
"And you'll finally get it done..."
"And notice that it sure looks a lot smaller than you thought it'd be..."
But instead, the girl at the register says, "It'll take a Saturday."
And I fall for it.
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