I don’t understand how the hell this works.
[Anya was currently sitting on her knees, hair disarray, plaid shirt buttoned completely wrong with an instruction paper clenched in her hands. Looking up as Tristan entered the room with their new baby boy Tobias, she sighs and gets up] Give me the damn kid, I’d rather hold him than work on this fucking crib. Fuck the crib, it’s been thirty six long minutes and I still can’t figure out what screw b is that connects to platform a or some shit.Â















