Bad Medicine

It was the perfect medicine cabinet.

At least that’s what we thought when we first saw it hanging on the wall of one of Ikea’s lovely little ‘home’ displays. HoBiscuit and I were immediately taken in by its clean lines, faux wood finish and solid hinges. It also didn’t hurt that we were tired and frustrated after a full day of shopping with absolutely nothing to show for it. So, when we came upon this lovely medicine cabinet that appeared to have been specially made just for us, we didn’t even hesitate to put our money down and take it home.

And that’s when the trouble began.

You see, unlike almost any other piece of Ikea furniture I’ve ever bought, this particular piece needed to be hung on the wall. And when I say hung on the wall, I mean hung straight on the wall using a tool called a ‘level’ and everything. I couldn’t just drill a couple of holes and hang the medicine cabinet willy-nilly because then our medicines, cotton balls and razors might have fallen out of the cabinet, spilled onto the floor and gotten all dirty.

And no one wants dirty cotton balls. It’s unnatural.

So, in accordance with Ikea’s Holy Instructional Pamphlet, I assembled the core structure of the medicine cabinet and then prepared to hang it on the wall. Medicine cabinet? Check. Mounting screws? Check. Electric drill? Check. Level? Check. Someone to hold the cabinet steady while someone else levels and mounts it to the wall?

Oh crap.

I glanced over to where I had last seen HoBiscuit. Looking at me with puppy eyes filled with hope, she was waiting patiently outside the bathroom, all aquiver with anticipation. She had even resorted to putting on an adorable little tool belt to help complete the look of Eager Helper. I knew this would be trouble, but what could I do? Ikea’s Holy Instructional Pamphlet had a drawing on it of not one, but TWO people mounting the medicine cabinet to the wall, and who was I to argue with such a learned institution of authority as Ikea?

Even so, I almost asked her to go get a neighbor. Almost.

Sighing mightily, I gave her the nod and hefted the cabinet to its place on the bathroom wall. As I held it there, HoBiscuit got the level and placed it on top of the cabinet inflicting only minor scratches on the ceiling in the process. When we had repositioned the cabinet so that it was level I asked HoBiscuit to please mark the drill points on the wall by drawing an ‘X’ where the holes for the screws in the back of the cabinet were. They were fairly large holes; able to fit a pencil with plenty of room to spare, and I thought drawing an ‘X’ on the wall was a fairly simple artistic task to ask my lovely wife to do.

Unfortunately, my wife went to business school.

After several attempts, and about 10 minutes of watching her actually bite her tongue in concentration while attempting to draw a fricking ‘X’ on the wall, we had the following discussion, which I will hold against her for the rest of our lives.

“Honey?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Is there something wrong?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure, because it seems to me that it’s taking you an awfully long time to draw an ‘X’.”
“Don’t start with me. This is harder than it looks, you know.”
“…”
“Don’t look at me like that or I’ll smack you.”
“Do you know what an ‘X’ is? I can draw one for you if you need a primer.”
“Shut up.”
“…”
“OK, you know what? I think I figured out the problem.”
“OK, and what’s the problem Sherlock?”
“It’s the pencil! The pencil isn’t working right and that’s the problem. I can’t draw an ‘X’ with this pencil.”
“…”
“What?”
“Did you just blame a pencil because you couldn’t draw an ‘X’ on the wall?!”
“Uhmmm… maybe?”
“Holy crap, I married myself with breasts.”