Pass the Tape and Scissors

Last weekend, my son, mother-in-law and I spent the afternoon and evening putting together a 500 piece-entirely-in-Japanese-Pokemon jigsaw puzzle. No, this wasn't part of my community service and there is no need to call the Hague Convention to Prevent Torture. It was last weekend and it's over now. But as with every other jigsaw puzzle that I have ever attempted, about ten minutes into it, I was convinced that the crucial piece or twenty that we needed was missing.

My son sang songs with dubious lyrics, such as "hey, now, you're a rock star, hey now, I have no idea how this song goes," as he worked.

My mother-in-law and I worked in silence, although I did announce several times that I was on a brink of a seizure.

And when it looked totally desperate, we took a break and went swimming, where I briefly considered filling my pockets with rocks and wandering into the deep end.

When we finished the puzzle later that night, we were filled with pride. But what the hell are going supposed to do with the puzzle once it is all put together? To take it apart seems barbaric and we are not animals. I wonder if MoMA will accept the donation?