The enemy of done

They say that perfect is the enemy of done. This is why at t-minus twelve hours until the end of the year I’m trying to finish making a new chair. I know that it’s not the most exciting goal, but my New Year’s resolution from last year was to improve my carpentry skills. 

Which means that three-quarters of a half-decent chair have been squatting in my shed since March. I started making it in a pique of inspiration during the lockdown, and as things got progressively grimmer I lost all momentum. You know how it goes, you decided that you’re gonna make all this progress and better yourself during the pandemic, and then the pressure of everything gets too much so you end up watching Tiger King and making sourdough instead. 

It was only when my boyfriend asked me if he wanted me to take it to the tip that I decided to finish the job. That was three weeks ago, and now my pride has determined that I need to complete the last quarter just before the bell drops.

If I don’t kiss Andy at the stroke of midnight he will be devastated and I can’t abide that. Also, he’ll never stop teasing me about ‘the worst chair never made’. You know what Andy, I will finish this chair and it will be beautiful and you will enjoy sitting in it, or I will die trying. 

I had already made the legs and the seat, I just had to make the backing and attach it all together. I had bought a separate cushioned seat, with some beautiful embroidery. (What I’m gay, I can occasionally get excited about embroidery). In an ideal world, it wouldn’t take more than a few hours. However, we continue to not live in an ideal world and we have company to help us ring in the New Year. If I want Andy to not get cross with me, I need to alternate finishing this chair with being the perfect host.

Alternating cutting, nailing and gluing with asking Susan and her wife how their new homewares company is going. A few minutes sanding down the back of the legs, and then a drink with Andrea and her partner Jordan. Did you know that Andrea is now pregnant? That’s lockdown for you I suppose, a secondary baby boom.

I was trapped in a boring conversation with Andy’s elderly aunt for an irritatingly long amount of time. At one point I am sure that Velma lived an interesting and dynamic life, but all of her stories were muddled and I had to strain to hear what she was saying. She peered at me from behind her large, thick glasses and I swear for a second I saw a spark of something dangerous. 

She was shitting with me, it felt like a test and suddenly I wanted to pass. 

At that moment I did something truly bizarre. I invited her down to my basement to help me finish this char. At first, she politely declined, but I could tell that she liked the idea of making something with her hands again and if half of her stories were true she would be an asset. Also, there was no way that Andy could accuse me of being a bad host if I was being friendly with his aunt.

We made our way down to the shed. I apologised for the poor condition of the garden path, it had become overgrown with weeds and wasn’t the easiest route for elderly legs. She picked her way through with relative ease and I found myself impressed. We kept chatting as we walked and as I opened up the shed. It was like the challenge of carpentry has awoken something in her and the conversation was much less muddled and boring. 

I realised that she had been intentionally boring before, probably in an attempt to make me go away. It must be frustrating, insulting even, to be seen as a burden to be passed around between various friends and relatives. If I hadn’t asked for her help on my project I would never have known. 

We worked for some time in relative silence, some of the power tools were loud and although she’d never admit to it I think that the work tired Velma out. With only a few minutes to spare we were done. Was the chair perfect? No, but it was finished, and it even looked pretty good. Smooth wood, varnish and paint adorned its every surface. 

Smooth lines, and comfortable looking cushion, and a decidedly average paint job. I gestured to Velma, encouraging her to ring in the new year on the new chair she helped make. She sat down with no small amount of ceremony. The motion was almost cute, but it felt wrong thinking that about her in that way. As we enjoying the fruits of our labours, I could hear Andy calling for me. He picked his way through the shed, where we had made quite a large mess and we regaled him with tales of our triumph.

It was hard to see the fireworks from inside the shed, but we could see enough from the windows. We shared our New Year’s kiss while Velma cheered behind us. 

I could probably end this story with some kind of moral, about how reaching out and working with someone on a project you’re stuck on is the best solution. How you can always make new friends, especially when you’re not expecting it. 

That all being said, after Andy and I shared our New Year’s kiss Velma straight up told us she used to hunt ghosts. And honestly, after that revelation, all other thoughts exited my brain at high speed and we kind of talked about that for the rest of the night.

I guess the true moral of the story is that ghost hunting makes the coolest stories, and its the best way to ring in a new year. But honestly, I’m going to go celebrate the New Year with my boyfriend so that’s a story for another time.