The Most Terrifying Words in the World:

Some assembly required.

My stepdaughter Austin got a new bed from Ikea as a gift from her oldest sister. Since I am the man, it's my job to assemble it, or so the tradition goes.

Unfortunately I was born without the fix-it gene, or it has deteriorated overtime from disuse and avoidance. My m.o. in these situations over the years has been to wait the rest of the household out, or to string together so many cuss sentences of rampant frustration that someone else takes up the task in disgust. A few other times I've had a softball buddy or someone else nearby that I could bribe with a sixpack of beer.

It's a remarkable achievement that I've reached the 54th year of my life without ever putting anything together, a long legacy of sloth, immaturity and irresponsibility it's taken a lifetime to achieve.

I can't fix things. I can't put things together. And I don't have time to whine about it. Austin gets home from school in a couple of hours, and like every other reasonable child she's entitled to a bed to sleep in.

I got all the parts out and basically arranged, but the meager instructions don't say what goes into where.

So now, for the first time in my underachieving life, I'm going to do the responsible thing.

I'm fighting off the urge to play poker or go to the gym or storm off in a miserable huff. I'm sucking it up, and googling tech support.

Stay tuned. It's me against Some Assembly Required, and if I can conquer this demon, anything is possible.