We had quite a bit of trouble with buckling side panels. Another call to the distributor ascertained that we would have to deconstruct the frame, remove the offending side panels, get the mat knife out again and trim excess material from the corners. Oh, goody. Later on that. I'm a little knife-shy at this point.
Here's how it all looked when darkness fell. It ain't up yet. We have another tier to add, and then we have to somehow lift the constructed roof (once we get the replacement top panels) and put it atop the second tier. And then we have to build the sliding doors. Just looking at the "directions" for the doors and their hinges makes me want to die. Looks like a five-man job to me, maybe another two or three days of work. This is the end of Day Three. Day One was five hours of just Bill and me. Day Two was Bill, Dave, Marcy and me. Day Three was the same lineup. Still in pieces.
It was time to warm up. I went down and stuck a fork in the pork shoulder. Not quite done. But oh my gosh. Far as I'm concerned, you can throw the chops and loin roasts in the wood chipper; that's about all they're good for. Somehow, of all cuts, the succulent shoulder has escaped the ministrations of hog breeders, who seem determined to make pork into chipboard.
Chet Baker took up his station on Marcy's lap, pawdypads on the table.
No, thank you, Daddeh, no wine for me. I do not care how good it is. It makes people silly. Which I am all for, because Boston terriers hang on to their silly. I am waiting for pork. Pork pork pork.