Pinky's Book Link

Thursday, August 20, 2015

I had a fantastic IKEA!

Pablo being a model.

There always seems to be a casualty when I go away on a trip.

Somehow, despite checking every fudging drawer and cupboard, the bathroom sink and under the bed, I always manage to leave something behind; like a hairdryer, an eye cream or a valuable, family heirloom earring.*

After I arrived home last weekend, I realised I’d left my brand new shower cap dangling on the nozzle at Mum and Dad’s house. Now, I know shower caps only cost $2 but it took me weeks to find where they stock them in Coles and I’ve forgotten which aisle and shelf they were on and the thought of going through the whole tiring process again is too much to bear so I’ll have to put up with my hideously stained old one with stretched elastic that lets the water in and makes the entire exercise of wearing a shower cap pointless.

I may as well just go and get a bucket of water and plunge my tiny head in it for all the protection it gives me.

So if Coles confuses me in this manner, imagine how circumspect I was when Scotto and I decided (as a frivolous experiment to check how strong our marriage actually is) to stop in to IKEA on the way to the airport on Sunday. We don’t have an IKEA in our one-horse town (or an Aldi) and I’m sick of being an ignoramus when people talk excitedly about how IKEA causes a high level of antagonism between them and their spouse.

I don’t like to miss out on good blog fodder like that.

The parking lot was an ideal place for me to start. 

“Well you could have got that parking spot if you’d been on the ball!” I nagged in my high pitched shrill. “That was a bit close to the pylon, don’t you think! You nearly dinged the car!” I taunted.

But there was no satisfyingly tetchy reaction from Scotto. That’s okay, I thought. I’m just warming up. There’s plenty of time to ignite an argument once we get inside.

But once I’d gained access to the place, I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.. It was quite simple to follow the illuminated arrows on the floor and mosey along like a stupefied cow being led through stiles, around and around what seemed, on the surface, to be a furniture shop.

I mean, is that all it is? A furniture shop? Why do couples get divorced after they go there?

I was expecting something far more antagonising. I thought there might be sexy Swedish blondes wearing fur bikinis soaking in Jacuzzis or something and I’d have to keep clipping Scotto over the ear to get his attention.

I’m far more likely to divorce my husband after a trip to Bunnings with all the drill bits and socket wrenches and stuff.

According to my research, walking through kitchen displays brings up touchy subjects like “who does the most cooking” and the fact that most couples who go there are already probably under stress because they’re renovating.

My favourite IKEA Kitchen

It seems as though the more choices there are available, the more scope there is for disagreement.

Fortunately, I don’t think Scotto and I have very passionate feelings about furniture. We save our rage for more important things.

We might get into an argument about him traipsing through the kitchen with his big ugly size 13 feet after I’ve just mopped it, or because he smacked my neurotic Chihuahua on the nose for barking incessantly at the cat, or the fact that I think all zombie movies are pathetically stupid and you’d have to be an intellectually challenged moron with glue for brains to watch them.

We might bicker over who’s going downstairs to check if the kitchen’s on fire at 2 o’clock in the morning because the smoke alarm is screaming blue murder after an unsuspecting gecko accidentally ran across it, or we might squabble because I was clumsy and tripped over the bathroom scales in the middle of the night making a shattering noise loud enough to wake the neighbours three doors down ( it happened last night) and when he gets up one hour later and does the exact same thing and I accuse him of trying to pay me back in a spiteful way by waking me up in precisely the same startling fashion… but we’d never argue about a silly piece of furniture. That would be ludicrous.

Nor would be argue about assembling flat packs, because for a start I’d be nowhere in the vicinity when Scotto was doing the assemblifying. 

I quite liked IKEA.

They even throw in the view!

In fact I think I could live in an IKEA store if they looked into doing a bit of plumbing... you know, actual flushing toilets. 

If they were smart they’d rent their little scenery things out at night to Uni students.

The cutlery drawer was all we could afford.

*There are no valuable heirlooms in our family that I know of. That was just to impress you.

Do you always accidentally leave something behind when you go on holidays? Ever had a fight in IKEA?

Linking up with Grace from With Some Grace for #FYBF