I realize that you may not know exactly what it is you are looking at, so allow me to explain. When we moved into the house that we currently rent, there was a big open space behind a door in our bedroom that was pretending to be a closet. There was no rod or shelf or any way of hanging clothes. In my impatient pregnant state I decided I could not wait for my husband to take care of this so I did it myself. It was literally the single most frustrating task I have ever taken on.
I bought the wire shelf and had the guy at the hardware store cut it to the right size, and then bought a wooden pole and hooks for the hanging rod. How hard could this be? Well, we have a sloped wall on one side and zero light inside for starters. The metal rack was much heavier and ridiculously difficult to maneuver, and I kept scraping it up against the walls. When I say I scraped it I mean I gauged the wall multiple times, deeply.
After a few tantrums and lots of sweating, it was finally done. The accomplishment almost wasn't enough to calm the rage I was feeling earlier. But, of course, that passed.
The other night we were eating dinner and I heard a crash upstairs. Mike and I looked at each other, perplexed. He doesn't seem to mind much, but I ran up to find out what happened. When I came back down, he said "What was it?"
I said "I don't want to talk about it".