How many husbands does it take to put together an Ikea headboard?

I'm in a very privileged minority in the western world. I'm having an agreeable divorce. One where neither party blames the other for everything gone wrong in their respective worlds. One where we're actually able to stay friends.

I remember and old friend saying to me, many years ago, that she and I always had pleasant experiences wherever we went because we were both pleasant to the people around us.

While I might not have been pleasant all the time, I have tried to keep in mind that it's much nicer to be smiled at than to be scowled at, and I have tried for the most part to be pleasant to everyone I encounter.

Even my husband. (Otherwise known as "Hubby" in this blog.)

Sunday, Hubby took me to Ikea so I could buy a piece of furniture. Brought it to my new apartment, unloaded it, opened the boxes... and to our mutual horror discovered we'd got the wrong box for part of the set.

So Monday, he came here after work, loaded the wrong box into his car, drove me back to Ikea... etc etc, and when we got back here, for the price of take-out chicken, put it all together for me. Took till after ten p.m., and not once did he utter a single complaint.

Sweet man. Well, his loving and generous nature was never a problem...

Anyway, while sitting and watching him put the thing together (the instuction booklet is 28 pages long...) I was reflecting that there was, in fact, no "Rocket Science" to what he was doing. Once he was more than half way through the project, I could look at the 200 or so fiddly bits on the table and start to see patterns. At one point I even got up and sorted them into their respective groups. Hubby, of course, had taken one look at the mound and immediately discerned their various uses, but I am not so gifted as he in these sort of matters. I would throw out my flippant "it must be on the "Y" chromosome..." but there are other instances where I have the upper hand discerning what purpose little fiddly things serve, and he is the proverbial fish out of water.

No, it seems the only feasible explanation is simple mental laziness in this case. One drill, one screwdriver. A pile of jumbled boards, and 3000 or so metal and wooden pieces... Simple! Except that, for me, on my lonesome, it would have been "Rocket Science."

Thank you, Hubby.