IKEA – Swedish for Husband Hell

We'll try for the summit in the morning

This past Saturday we visited IKEA for the first time in a long, long time. We only needed shelving, but the thought of even the briefest visit gets my normally laid-back spouse agitated.

It all starts in the parking lot, where the only spot you can find will be so far away from the entrance to the store that you may as well pack provisions and prepare to set up base camp.

Once we reached the front of the store, Hubby the Great noticed the parking stalls “reserved” for families. Of course, they were all taken. I was tempted to inspect the cars to see which ones had car seats (as opposed to those who take “Family Parking” to mean a dad and his 30-year old son), but knowing that Hubby the Great’s blood pressure was rising, I decided to forgo my vigilantism.

We fought our way through the throng and got to the shelving. They were completely sold out of the one we needed – natch. Go figure, after I finally built up enough nerve to visit IKEA on a Saturday afternoon (of a long weekend no less), and convinced Hubby the Great that it really wouldn’t be like lighting his eyeballs on fire, they didn’t have what we came for.

Clearly, we weren’t going to be repeating this adventure anytime soon, so I had to settle for my second choice rather than risk suggesting we try again some other weekend.

With second runner-up shelf in hand, we made our way to the check-out where we gathered with similarly harassed-looking customers. That’s where it hit me. I know what IKEA really needs. Forget the cheap Swedish meatballs, IKEA should be serving liquor!

Perhaps they can implement my little suggestion in time for me to convince Hubby the Great to return to Satan’s Scandinavian lair (probably this time next year).