Eight hours later

I have lovely parents, who, on the occasion of my last birthday, got me a new desk. That might sound very weird for a teenager to ask for, but I spend a LOT of time sitting at that thing. The one I'd had was . . . Well, as old as me.
So, a couple of months ago, I got this for part of my birthday.
I did not realize why my mother was so reluctant to help me build it. Sure, I thought it would be hard, but surely not that difficult.
Well. I was quite wrong.
Eight hours later, two diet Cokes, multiple scratches and a Starbucks later, it was built.
Eight hours.
Eight flipping hours.
But now that it's over, I'm happy with it. Not while I was building it; no, then it was a device that the devil had created just to tick me off. I was not meant to build furniture.
I mean, seriously.
It took two days, and eight hours of building, quite a few curses and having to spray the bloodhound with a water bottle so he wouldn't eat the plastic nail thingys to get it done. I prevailed, though, in keeping him from devouring the nails.
He did manage to get the packing Styrofoam though. Trails of white, fluffy, environmentally negligent pieces of packaging can be found throughout my house.
It's worth it though.
All in all, I am so very happy with the labors of over eight hours.