My futon has an attitude

I had a "Miss Independent moment" on Wednesday. My roommates and I had just finished final exams and were beginning the horrible process of packing up/cleaning up our room. Part of that task included disassembling the futon. In the past, my dad has put it together and torn it down, but this year, I was going to do it myself. After all, how difficult could it actually be? 

Answer: very. 

I put my full effort into twisting apart the stubborn screws. It probably didn't help that all I had was a miniature pink tool kit and some sort of Handyman wrench contraption my dad had given to me. At one point, I was so frustrated I told my roommate Lindsey I wanted to swear. (ha!) She reminded me that there were parents helping their daughters move out and "it probably isn't a good idea if the Hall Chaplain is swearing at the furniture." Good point. I kept my composure, barely.

After 45 minutes of wrestling with the futon and pinching my fingers and pleading with those bolts to release their grip, I was able to convince 6 screws to comply. Really, only six. 

I left for lunch, while the half-apart futon sat in the middle of the room, mocking me. I would show it who was boss later. It would be sorry.

When I came back, my friend Adlai had taken apart the futon. He said that he did it in 5 minutes. Seriously? So, instead of feeling like Miss Independent, I felt like a little girl. A little girl with wimpy pink pliers and a futon with an attitude.

In other news, I'm home now. I still have a lot of unpacking to do, but summer has officially started!