It would seem so.
I have none of that shit on your drawing, Habitat. It's science fiction to me. I have a thing called a ratchet screwdriver that I can't operate, and a hammer.
Hmm. Let's look closer.
Really, Habitat? No scissors, Stanley knives, sharp cutting things? How would you like me to open the box? Shall I stroke it open? Tickle it? Use interpretative dance to terrify it open? Also, in what way is an umbrella a good illustration of a thing that is fragile? Next time, use a DikDik. They're prettier and way more breakable.
I opt for trying to rip the box open with my hands. It hurts. I find this in the box:
Those smug little bastard men, just like the Ikea ones. Two of you fuckers? In overalls? 1-2 hours? What the fuck is this bed, the Large Hadron Collider? Note the reddish smear. That is blood. I cut myself OPENING THE BOX. Does this tell you everything you need to know about whether I am qualified - me and my twin, in or out of overalls - to build a flat pack? I think it does. I bleed on one of the side panels, and have to try and rub it off. Out of the corner of my eye I read on the leaflet "If your piece of furniture becomes stained DO NOT try to rub. Dab clean with a damp cloth". Fuck you, Habitat.
I empty the box, just to see what's in there. Pieces of bed lie everywhere, taunting me. The most appealing thing in the room is suddenly the empty box. I have never seen a box this large. The obvious thing to do is to get into the box.
It really is an exceptionally roomy box. Definitely a two person box. A double box, if you will.
I arrange myself like a 15th century stone nobleman on a tomb in York Minster. It is very restful.
There is plenty of room for the faithful hound to curl up at my feet in the box tomb, in authentic fifteenth century style. Mystifyingly, the faithful hound prefers the mattress.
Note that I STRIPPED THE BED. I truly believed I was sleeping in my new bed tonight. I had picked out clean sheets and everything.
I snuggle deeper into my box, making a pillow out of polystyrene film.
I think I might just stay in my cardboard sarcophagus until, say, May. That seems the safest solution. Just wake me up when I'm solvent and sane and the sun has come out. Ok?