Just Grill It.

Seven(!) years ago when I moved into my apartment, I shouted to all who would listen about what a great place I had been lucky enough to find.  Highlights included the location, the amount of windows, being on the third floor, and - the piece de resistance - my porch off of the kitchen.  Despite my having to share the area with my neighbor, I'd never before lived in a place of my own with real outdoor space and I was over the moon with plans for gatherings with friends, container gardens, tomato plants, and morning weekends spent pouring over the paper in my pj's, a mug of coffee in hand, all from the privacy of my back "yard."

Upon hearing about said porch, my cousin, who had recently upgraded some of her home purchases, gave me a hand-me-down grill that she and her husband had used for years.  It was tiny and propane tank fueled, perfect for my narrow space. 

Once I was moved in and settled, I did - and still continue to - embrace my porch.  I've made the dream of friends dining together as the sun set happen, I've held book clubs out there, I've heard friend's confessions and shared my own under the cover of night, as we sipped the last of our wine. Every spring, I go crazy at the garden center buying too many plants and herbs all in the name of it finally being any season but Snowstorm.  All has been right in my land of the summer porch for a lucky, grand, and wonderful number of years.  Until two summers ago when that donated grill died.

Oh, my porch was still great of course.  But there is just something about the summer that says grilling and over the past two summers, when I've been without said grill, I couldn't help but feel like one small element was missing from my porch o' wonders.  So last weekend, I finally took the plunge, stopped dragging my feet, and bought myself a new grill at Home Depot.

I didn't need or want anything fancy; $99 was plenty to spend on a grill I'd use for a handful of months.  "Easy to assemble" read the box as I purchased it. "It's not heavy at all" said the Home Depot employee as he carried it out and loaded it into my Jeep for me.

Turns out, people have different definitions of heavy.

Still, I managed to somehow haul the monstrous box up my three flights of stairs alone, sliding it into my kitchen to assemble.

Hmm.

It also turns out that apparently people have vastly different opinions on what constitutes "easy to assemble."

Now, I like to think I'm an intelligent person. I've put plenty of Ikea furniture together, I can solve a jigsaw puzzle, I can even navigate Boston's ridiculous unmarked streets.  But this grill, man.  This mother effing grill was going to do me in.

I texted my mother in frustration.  She tried to be supportive, telling me I'd surely figure it out; that I could do it!  An hour later, I sent her another text: ALL I WANT TO DO IS GRILL A STUPID PIECE OF CHICKEN. I AM GOING TO SCREAM AND THEN ALSO DIE. GOOD NIGHT.

Clearly, the grill and I were getting along well.

The next morning, as I walked back into my kitchen, stepping gingerly through the millions of metal pieces strewn about, I talked myself into giving the assembly another shot.  Things always look better in the morning, I find.  Or as I quickly learned...in the case of this grill?  They don't.  Ever.

I had a moment where I decided to hell with it all; I would just pack the whole thing up and return it to Home Depot and I'd spend my $99 on something that did not require any thought or assembly...something like a nice new dress.  Except that when I attempted to repackage the whole thing I discovered that - surprise! - that was a puzzle in and of itself and there was no way I'd ever place all of the parts back into anything that resembled a returnable item.

This, my friends, is what you'd call a conundrum.

Or, a royal pain in the neck.

And so, despite my I can fix and do anything, I am woman hear me roar inclination, I decided to cave.  I called a Handyman.

Two men arrived a day later and went to work immediately. I didn't lift a finger.  They finished in two hours.  Maybe they were just being nice, maybe they felt bad for me, but both of them remarked that it would have been a nearly impossible job for just one person. 

That made me feel a bit better.

One of my oldest friends from high school likes to make a joke about "throwing money at the problem."  She's said it went we've been stuck together in the rain trying to hail a cab in Manhattan, when we've been stuck without a place to sleep in Spain, and when we've been trying to negotiate a rental car.  Being a smart, independent, money conscious woman, it is her half-serious, half-joking rally cry and it never fails to make me laugh when she exclaims it.  I'll be lamenting about my latest issue or dilemma and she'll look at me with a completely straight and serious face.  "What we need to figure out," she'll say, "is how to throw money at this problem and make it go away."

Turns out that in this case?  Her advice has never been more pertinent.

The good news is that my return on investment seems to be working out pretty well so far.