My mom and I occasionally eat dinner in the living room instead of at the dining table. I have an end table to use for such occasions. A couple nights ago, as I sat down to eat, the table top came off in my hands. I was literally holding up the top of my table (with my dinner and lots of other junkies on it).
The next day, having recovered from the trauma (it was traumatic, trust me), Mom and I decided to try to fix it by screwing the table top back on:
Miss Print: “I don’t think I can get this screw any tighter.”
Mom: “Sometimes it helps if you stop and let it rest for a little.”
Moments later . . .
Miss Print continues to struggle with screw.
Mom: “See how easy that was?”
Miss Print: “Shut up. You sound like an annoying sidekick in a sitcom.”
Mom: “I felt like one too.”
(Eventually we were successful except for the screws marring the top of the table–easily fixed with a strategic doilie.)