Ikea or DIE!

I went to Ikea last weekend and now I am going to tell you what I think of Ikea. First of all, people are APPALLED if they find out you’re an adult who has never been to Ikea. It was not TOO difficult to miss out on this jarring experience for so long but who knows, everyone is different.

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Sometimes I feel like stores conspire against me. Like the store knows when I’m coming and what I like at that given moment. “You’re obsessed with olive green right now, are you? Well, let me give you 3,000 different items in that color. Some even have floral patterns!” What am I the typical woman or something? (Yes, yes you are, says the home decor industry).

It took a while to stop staring at the young family that was having a lesson in store manners. You know, that family that clearly does everything the right way. The kind of family that makes you feel bad for not walking your dog the last two days. The mom just had her shit together. She was all, “I’m gonna stay super calm and wait for you to be done being a child,” to her husband while the children wailed about how unfair life was. And hey, they were right. At six years old, a saturday afternoon at Ikea is a Normal Rockwell painting with the caption “Life is unfair.” I was more concerned, however, with how this dad was going to make it through the day. He looked like he’d rather be golfing in North Carolina and who could blame him? (besides every child who grew up with absentee dads that went golfing in North Carolina.)

A few days later I went to the store Home Goods for the first time and WHAT THE SHIT. First of all, do reusable bag holders and spice racks that can hang on your pantry door exist? Because this store had everything minus those two items. Since when were fake bird cages so hip? How many versions of beachy end tables with scrubbed off paint exist? Because I want all of them.

Back to Ikea. Sometimes I find myself at random stores looking around at the people that work there wishing I had there life. I did not do this at Ikea. In no way did I want to be Marissa, stalking different color coasters while I beg her, “Are you SURE there are no olive green placemats left?” No, I would rather be any place but here.

Tell me about it, stud

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