It's my hutch in a box, baby, it's my hutch in a box

Part 1
It's not that I'm totally useless with my hands.
They know their way around the fretboard of just about any stringed instrument with a certain degree of proficiency. They know how to murder a drum kit, and plunk about on a keyboard.
They're fairly useful for cleaning out gutters, writing checks to NCAA Tournament pool organizers and, well, various other duties ... ladies (wink, clicking noise and pistol fingers). My buddy Christian Alexandersen was right when he said you can make any sentence creepy by adding "ladies" at the end.
Back on topic, while I'm not incompetent when it comes to stuff around the house, I am not what you would call "handy." I've never sanded and stained wood flooring for the hell of it, or pressure washed our fence without my wife saying "You should pressure wash the fence."
Now, I have assembled various desks, tables and patio furniture around our abode when my wife would come home with something from Office Max or Lowe's.
But, until today, I had never dealt with Ikea. I know most of you probably know what Ikea is, but, if you don't, it's furniture manufactured in Sweden, packed into boxes, shipped and sold at Ikea stores around the world.
They've been doing it for decades, we're just a little late to the party.
Like I said, I'm comfortable assembling stuff for the home, although I usually miss a page of directions or look at something upside down and have to redo it, what have you. The process is generally fairly slow.
When it took me 15 minutes just to get the Ikea box open, I knew I was in for trouble.
Then, I realized that the Swedes have mastered TARDIS technology as there was way more stuff inside the box than it should have been able to hold.
I started unpacking, and found the baggie full of hardware. I instantly recognized my nemesis, the Allen wrench (or as it is known in Sweden, the Mats Sundin wrench).

I started going to work on the project, which, when complete, is supposed to resemble a set of drawers.
I followed each illustration meticulously, making sure I knew which end was up because I didn't want to go through everything again.
I laboriously put screws and slats and beams into place (that's what she said?), occasionally correcting for something that was out of place, and constantly pushing endless pieces around me so I could move.
My beagle watched me from the comfort of a sunbeam with her head propped on her paws and slightly cocked to the side, as if to say "Why are you doing this? Find a chew toy and hang out with me in the sunbeam. It's delightful."
Eventually the call of a prepared lunch halted my work. I now have something that resembles a structure meant to hold drawers. I'm on step 10 of 27. So far, no catastrophe, no swearing and, surprisingly, no Mats Sundin wrenching. I'm sure they save that for last.