The trunk is tied down over a stack of long Ikea boxes that jut a few inches out from the back of the car. Otherwise the boxes fit perfectly, filling almost the entire volume of the back of the car. I feel like a genius because if we’d gotten any more pieces, they wouldn’t have fit and, at the last minute, I decided to two fewer bookcases than I’d originally planned.
A police car starts tailing us shortly after we get off the freeway in Seattle. This makes me nervous. It’s a flash of Catholic guilt – feeling bad about doing something wrong, even though you’re not sure what you might have done. Perhaps I’m afraid that I’ll get pulled over for original sin and I won’t have my baptism certificate on me. The cop shoots a short honk at me, prompting me to claim a free right turn on red. He continues to trail us after the turn and just before he turns off at the police station, I notice that his trunk is hanging open too. It’s just flapping around behind him.
Later, Samantha and I put together her bookcases. Her hammer is tiny, and I joke that using it makes me feel a little effeminate. But when I get home and it comes time to put together my bookcases, my own hammer seems awkward and clumsy – like a giant clown hammer – and I think I’d rather have Samantha’s girly hammer.