Deflating my own chest and seckling down

Here’s a lesson about pride and my chest being too high. I went to Ikea to buy a wardrobe with the intention of taking it home myself. That was until I felt the weight of it, so I decided to leave it on the shelf and just pay £25 for delivery.

When I got to the cash desk, the sales assistant advised I’d have to pay an extra £10 for a member of staff to take it off the shelf to the home delivery section of the store, which is less than 50m. Ten pound British sterling to move it 50m?! I’m sorry my friend, no.

So I lit a figurative candle, looked to the sky and asked for some assistance from my ancestors to give me the strength. Abuba (nana) Margaret pulled through as I got it off the shelf, on to an trolly and eventually into the Fiesta, but I’ve now popped my back.  So what I’ve saved in a delivery charge will be used towards physiotherapy.

The lesson today is: don’t let your pride or tightness cloud your judgement. Now I’ve got to assemble it with pulled muscles and what feels like a slipped disc. I can’t lie, on one hand I feel like a champ but I slyly want to cry from the pain. Happy New Year to me. 

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