Weeks ago, in an effort to make Dad’s downstairs transition more accommodating, we disassembled the heavy, brown IKEA cabinets that made up the 90’s-style TV entertainment wall unit in our living room and thought to sell it. Cheap. $100 bucks or best offer. Like new condition because we know how to take care of things. Disassembled, the whole thing broke down to 5 big cabinets, all with doors and shelves and in two cases, glass display shelves and LED lighting. It would take a truck and muscles to claim any of it, all of it, as Mom stated so in her detailed online ad.

And you know, only the trolls came out to play brain games as to whether or not they were coming to get it. Not one legitimate interested party. “Oh, really, I’m on my way!” they claimed one after another for hours and hours and more hours. For 3 days. And no one came. The cabinets went nowhere.

A week later, Mom advertised the whole thing, disassembled into individual cabinets remember, for FREE, and even more trolls came out from the woodwork. Finally someone came to see them, in person and 4 hours late, and well, it was a troll too, as verified by the smallest of small cars they drove up in, claiming they were going to tear the whole thing apart down to individual boards and screws and bolts within minutes and stuff it in their non-existent trunk.

Um, no, you’re not, Mom said, and closed the door.

We were sad to discover most furniture donation places charge for donating to them and refuse to take particle wood furniture. We cannot afford to pay to have them removed. Though very strong, very heavy and well designed for strength, IKEA cabinets are all particle wood. Additionally, all the furniture donation places here, Habitat for Humanity for example, will only pick up outside and won’t come into your home for items. Did we mention these are very heavy and well, we’re in the rainy season now? No cabinets will be going outside only to be destroyed, waiting until they are “picked up.”

So, the cabinets remain. sad and dejected, taking up our entire entryway, existing in a world where no one needs storage, no one wants free cabinets, and only getting love from a mischievous Tuxie girl who knows she shouldn’t be on them.

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A Colehaus Cats flashback:

2024 – No post
2023 – No post
2022 – No post
2021 – Friday Fiction
2020 – No post
2019 – No post
2018 – No post
2017 – No post
2016 – No post
2015 – No post
2014 – (Almost) Wordless Wednesday
2013 – Ruby Tuesday
2012 – ManCat Monday – Seth, the Dangler