The girl and I went to Ikea yesterday to pick up a new shelf-unit for our new TV in the basement. It was actually quite painless, as these things go. (Oh, except for our decision to go thru the "self-checkout" line. We never have good luck with these things, but we keep doing it. We somehow think it will be "faster." What inevitably happens is we screw something up along the way, thereby setting off all sorts of announcements beckoning the help of an "associate," and we end up laughing our asses off and making a scene.)
The girl put the unit together since she is REALLY good at that kind of stuff. And REALLY am not. See, she's really handy -- loves house projects, owns all kinds of tools, etc. I'm handy with the yellow pages and a checkbook. I'll always remember when I lived in my condo on Capitol Hill, she came over one time to help me fix something and she walked in with a power drill in a Victoria's Secret bag. I almost proposed on the spot.