You remember when you were in high school and you got a “D” on your report card in a subject matter that you will use once in your life (this single class and then never again) but regardless, you’re pretty sure your parents are going to kill you for not excelling at trigonometric basket weaving, so (sweet bajeebus this is the longest run-on sentence ever) you tell your parents you’re pregnant? And as they’re simultaneously reaching for the knife drawer you shout, “NO! Not really! But I’m a complete failure at finding out how many isosceles triangles it takes to make a macrame owl. I’m so sorry, I’ll go pour the white-out on my college applications now.” You know?! No? Just me? Moving on…
When we drew “Fort Day!!!” out of The Date Box, my tiny pea of a brain decided it was the most brilliant idea ever to lead with, “So honey, I think we should first mount some hooks in the ceiling. You know, so this can be one serious, bad motherfucker of a fort.” And then ten minutes later after two more mugs of coffee and intensive sessions of CPR, I was at least able to use things like light stands, broom handles and tent poles instead of couch cushions. Couch cushions are for amateurs. Or five-year-olds.
My parents should be happy to read that I did, indeed use some form of Physics (that’s science!) to construct our fort. The rest of my energy was spent reassuring Rhonda that I wasn’t going to poke anyone’s eye out. See, Rhonda’s idea of a fort is a sheet over the dining room table. I was less than supportive or understanding of her vision. Because, see, MY vision was very tunneled in the direction of “serious, bad motherfucker of a fort.” I wanted to “WOW” Rhonda with my mad fort skillz. An hour later, as we lounged and made out in the coziest, prettiest fort that ever did fort, I’d say I WON.
Three days later, we finally took it town.
Presenting, The Love Hut:
You can see Rhonda’s step-by-step documentation of the fort construction HERE.