Soooooo my last post got me in trouble……apparently there were a few trips to Ikea planned & executed following it. Let’s put it this way……the men weren’t happy. I can relate.
Recently our marriage under-went a very serious test….. An experience that I am sure very many of you can relate to but are maybe too traumatised to verbalise. Maybe it’s a rite of passage? Maybe it’s the time of year that’s in it? Or maybe it’s just to do with my undying love of storage!
Anyway a few weeks ago I dared utter the words that has made the blood of many a hot-blooded male round these parts, run cold.
“Will we go to Ikea? I think we need a trip to Ikea.”
Loosely translated, as all of us women know, this means “This is your notice that come hell or high water we are going to Ikea this weekend”.
This is a story with two sides to it but yet the same story. Same time, same place, same aul’ timeless dilemma …… Just a modern day version of “Shall we come home from mass the long scenic way via the tea rooms or will we go straight home?” Boys, there is only every ONE answer to these types of rhetorical questions. And its generally the opposite to the answer you wish it was.
Let me recount that faithful Saturday, when we frequented the famous Swedish store where everything comes in one hundred thousand pieces.
(More Ikea in the girls (messy!!!!) bedroom)
My innermost thoughts:
Find a space, find a space, any space will do, hurry up you are wasting valuable shopping time.
Trolley, where’s the trolley?…..oh look I see the lift….forget the trolley….just get me one of those tiny pencils & the betting slip thingy & I’ll manage.
The smell, the smell, I can smell Ikea.
I love Ikea.
Right, I have it all planned out. We’ll just nip in & get the stuff on our list. And the few bits for my Mam, Dad & best friends too. It’s all small stuff I can just grab on the way past.
Where is that rocking chair on the list……ooooooohhhhhhh would you look at that sofa? It’d be gorgeous somewhere in our house. Did you bring the house plans with dimensions? I know we moved in 2 years ago but …..
Ok I will focus…..the rocking chair…..
I just love Ikea.
Do we need a light for under that picture in the hall? What picture? We don’t have one?
Well what about this one over here ……oooohhh *squeal* & it glows in the dark. (***Happy cry****)
I smell cinnamon ….god I’d love a cinnamon roll. Can we stop for coffee now?
Whaaaaaaattttt free coffee with a family card?? And cake made from Dime bar? So what if we’ve already had dinner? They are nearly paying us to take the meatballs off them.
I FRICKIN’ love Ikea. (****even more happy crying****)
Ok so the rocking chair….. Focus, focus.
Tiny plastic hangers. In lots of nice colours. Seriously. Need them. Lots of them.
And do we need bunk beds with a pull put car port underneath?
I’m stuffed from the meatballs – should we eat again before we leave? It’s great value. And a long road home.
The collapsible box with additional castors surely would make our lives complete?
A bug light?
I. Am. Not. Able.
I love the Swedish.
The other (testosterone driven) side to this cautionary tale:
Right stay calm. In and out. It can’t be that bad. There’ll surely be a lads trip to Thomond out of this #browniepoints.
Oh look there’s a pregnant woman.
Hhhhhmmmmmm, rocking chair….hhhhmmmmmmm white noise, white noise…yes, yes, more white noise…..rocking chair.
And another pregnant woman.
I don’t care ….any darn rocking chair at all will do. They all look the same to me. (***blank stare***)
Holy Flip there are pregnant women everywhere.
I hate Ikea.
Is this place some sort of pregnant woman haven?
Like who needs a box that folds out into a bed small enough to home a family of field mice?
I FLIPPIN’ hate Ikea.
I wonder are Kerry winning?
Why are we here again? *blank stare*…..white nose..again
You could not actually pay me to come back here.
I feel like I’m in CUMH – another one.
Why did I agree to this again? Oh yes right….I technically didn’t.
Ohhhh so there is food – what’s that awful smell? That Christmassy smell? I hate it.
I’m going to have to get the meatballs & the fish – are the Swedish tiny or what? Where is the rest of it?
Do the Swedish drink beer?
What do you mean I have to build this stuff myself?
Where are we going to fit all this crap on the way home? A trailor?
I hate Ikea.
(Edmund Hillary, himself. And yes, I am one of those AWFUL mothers that puts tights on boys.)
And so we drove home in silence. Me sitting on a pile of brightly coloured tea towels, cushions & a flat pack child’s rocking chair.
And hubby silently rueing the day he met me & resolving to never darken the door of Ikea again.
(Said chair being surfed by Kelly “3rd born” Slater. Mother, out of picture, breathing deeply into paper bag)
Your in storage solutions….for now,