"I was thinking about those green shelves at Ikea."Crap.
Then, as we were driving there (in rush hour, while she fed the munchkin dinner in the backseat), I started to wonder, What is it about Ikea that is so polarizing? Why do most men loathe it while many women love it? Why do so many couples agree never to go there again? I came up with the following:
First, the layout of the store itself lends itself far more to a woman's approach to shopping than a man's. A man wants to see everything in a section, side by side, so he can select the one he wants. Women, on the other hand, want to see the final product; the completed room (with many new accessories that she can conveniently purchase there). So, Ikea gives you both, and it takes twice as long because you have to look at the same damn shelf in three different room configurations (not to mention in the shelf section). It is so inefficient.So why don't men just let the women shop there alone? Simple: Ikea doesn't (generally) deliver, and most of the stuff is too bulky and/or heavy for their blushing bride to carry out alone. Feeling like their strength is needed, the men are guilted into the trip.
And don't get me started about the names. Lack? Billy? Bonde? Mälm? Please! And what's with the use of the umlaut? Are all the products named after failed metal hair bands of the 1980s?Once the items are purchased, there is the ever-enjoyable vehicular reconfiguration. For those with cars and a third person, they pray that the rear seat splits. For those with vans, they wonder if they can legally drive with the middle row bench riding shotgun. Invariably, Ikea trips come on humid days, so the boxes slip through your sweaty palms as you try desperately to violate known laws of physics to make the box fit (and in a perfect world, not immediately crush you when you open the door at home). All the while, the woman is trying to help, while the man just wants to curse and do it himself.
And that motif continues once the boxes are home and unloaded from the vehicle. The man wants to lock himself in a room with his allen-key and emerge all manly with the unit complete. The woman wants the assembly to be a shared experience, something that can make their relationship grow and prosper because they "made" something together. News flash: this is not a baby, ladies. This is particle board and cheap hardware precariously connected and theoretically called furniture.Back to our trip on Tuesday. I hate to admit it, but MTM was right: the shelves were discontinued, and there were only three units left (we wanted two). "While we were there" we also grabbed a matching table and a chair (that has since been deemed inappropriate and subsequently requiring another trip to return it). (Note that assembly was deferred until the destination room is painted.)
Thank goodness we got ice cream afterwards.
After dinner, my wife settled in to do some more priming in the munchkin's future bedroom while I tried desperately to recapture my youth by watching
Since my wife needed more time to paint, I took the munchkin to the mall for some shopping, fun, and lunch. We went to our usual haunts: Toys R Us, the play area, the food court. (Sometimes it feels like we always do the exact same things at the mall when we're there just the two of us. She seems to enjoy the routine, so who am I to complain?
Then, our weekend flyer had a different model on sale at the local store. The fire was rekindled and I again debated the purchase. We talked about it, and concluded that if it could fit indoors, it would be a good investment for the winter days when it was too cold for outdoor activity. We measured and concluded that neither design we had seen would be suitable. Undaunted, I went online and found one that a) would fit and b) was preferable since it had four walls (the other designs all had three walls and a slide, meaning the thing was more likely to get dirty and there was an increased probability of someone falling out).
Later that afternoon, friends of ours came with their two daughters. The three girls jumped in the castle (box? cage?) and ran around the yard while the parents caught up on lost time. (We live over an hour apart now.) Dinner was good (the Oreo dessert was impeccable), and afterwards we settled in for some dress-up time with all the discount costumes MTM has acquired. And, after all the girls were in their jammies for the night, they all jumped on our bed while the four parents surrounded the bed and caught errant toddlers as they flailed about.
That's right, we went to Ikea on a Sunday afternoon. Me, who doesn't like crowds or densely filled parking lots and has anxiety issues in full stores, went to I-K-E-A. Brilliant, no? Well, that wasn't even the most frightening part of the day. That came when I learned that sometime while I slept (I suspect), aliens came and replaced my wife with a doppleganger. How do I know this, you ask? We came out with a receipt for less than $3 total. From Ikea. With my wife. I nearly passed out.








