Everyday living

My Patronus Is An IKEA KALLAX Shelving Unit

Before there was a Charlotte location, I didn’t know anything about IKEA outside of the store’s Swedish roots. Because I lean toward a more traditional aesthetic, I didn’t bother to pay attention to IKEA. Mid-century modern is for people who don’t like to sit in comfortable chairs! Finally, some friends of mine punched me in the face and told me go, GO TO IKEA. So, a few years ago I went for the first time and came home with a pack of straws, some plastic bins and a broadened sense of home decorating at reasonable prices.

I’ve been several times since and there are a few things I’ve noticed.  First and foremost: the damn wonky-ass buggies. THE BUGGIES. There’s got to be some marketing reason why the buggies roll to the left.  They can not be pushed straight. What does this mean? Why? Why, when I have a cart with an almost 50 pound five-year-old in the front, a grabby three-year-old in the child’s seat, with pillow inserts and wooden kitchen utensils stuffed in the remaining space, should I have to fight this buggy’s leftisms?

Secondly: There should be no capacity at Smaland. Just pack the kids in there, turn on a movie, and make sure no one leaves. This is all we, as parents, are asking.  We come to shop, to buy all the storage units and the super-cute textiles with weird-looking animals on them and the clippies for the kitchen stuff, and the hanging bars for the buckets for the knick-knacks and fake plants that we can’t kill, and the soft-closing drawers, and the plastic hangers, and we want to do all of this ALONE. That’s what you said, IKEA. You said, you promised!  You said, “Come on.  Come. Leave the kids with us.  We got this.  They’ll be fine.  You can go and walk around and touch things and open things (all of the things you would tell the kids NOT to do because you are an adult and can do this with composure) and the kids will be happy and tired-out just in time for you to pick them up for the drive home.” SORRY, WE ARE AT CAPACITY. What a bunch of liars.

Thirdly: Sell the chocolate at checkout.  I will forget to buy the chocolate from the cafeteria. I need the chocolate for the drive home, but I refuse to walk all the way back through your maze of marketing strategy to get the chocolate and I need it for the drive home. I need it. The chocolate.

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