Speaking of torture, we're hopefully going to IKEA for the last time this weekend to maybe pick up a couch .. and some shelves.. and a non-descript bin.. and, like, 12 hot dogs. I like IKEA, I really do. I mean, basically my house is less a home and more a shrine to those Swedes but man.. we just got our old one upgraded to a mega-IKEA and it's so overwhelming. All these couples and families, wandering like nomads, grabbing me by the collar and begging me to just "show me where the toilet brushes are - PLEASE!!"
No matter how hard I try to keep it under two hours, trips to IKEA are long enough to require a toothbrush and a change of clothes. I've had IKEA jaunts that have lasted longer than my first job**. I just walk and walk and pick up brackets and walk and compare funnels and walk and walk until I just grab the first duvet cover I can pronounce without choking on my own saliva and leave.
And yet there are always things I "need". I was prepared that our place would cost us more than anything we'd ever done separately or collectively but I was not prepared for the nagging feelings of guilt and doubt every time we walked past a home goods store or a hardware shop.
"Didn't we need more screws? Were they 1 1/4 inch? 1 inch? We should get both."
"We should probably get an extension cord.. for when we need to extend things..."
"I don't have a melon baller! How can we have a housewarming party without a melon baller?! How can I be an adult if I can't BALL MELONS??!!"
And so on. So we'll head back this weekend for hopefully the last time this year to get the odds and ends our little family can't live without. And then a cinnamon bun. Because if you think I'm grumpy at IKEA now, you should see me with low blood sugar.