Every chick needs a shed

We purchased a garden shed from Bunnings, one of those kit thingamies. We figured, between us we have an Honours Degree in Biochemistry and an Honours Degree in Textile Design – so we should be able to put up a shed!
Have you ever read about those experiments that were done where the corpus callosum in the brain has been severed? It is radical surgery for people who suffer severe epilepsy and other seizer type afflictions. It severs the connection between the left and right side of the brain. The people who have had this surgery suffer some weird consequences, almost split personality type symptoms. Giving them a written question and having them respond in writing gives a totally different answer than if you ask them the same question and they respond verbally. One brain, two totally different ways of thinking.
I am, of course, almost completely left brained. The husband, I think, doesn't actually have a functioning left brain at all. Sometimes we have communication breakdowns of momentous proportions, simply because I can't understand what on earth he is trying to say. For example, the other day we were driving to the market and I asked which way at the roundabout, he said "you go szhut, szhut" waving his hand in the air. From this I was supposed to understand that I needed to go into the roundabout and take the second left. Frustrating to say the least.
So I armed myself with the instructions that were at times vague and other times downright contradictory, the husband wielded the screwdriver and two days later we have a functioning shed. At one point the neighbour, probably sick of listening to the continuous flow of profanities, leaned over the fence and handed us his cordless drill. This sped things up immensely. Now, it's not that we don't own a drill – I have a cordless one that can barely put a screw into pre-drilled plasterboard (a chick's drill) and the husband has an electric one that will rip your arm out of it's socket (a bloke's drill). He refused to use the drill initially because it was "too much trouble to muck around with extension cords". He also refused to let me square anything as we went, exclaiming "it'll square itself as we go". I was, of course, going nuts. It is a fundamental part of my nature to read instructions, measure and double check everything as I go. He is more inclined to wing it. Fortunately, after the initial teeth grinding and swearing we managed to see the funny side of what we were doing and by the end of it all were even managing to work together. So as far as I am concerned our marriage has passed one of the more trying tests – prefab kits.