I love going to Ikea. Our trips are rare, saved for the transition moments when we've planned dramatic overhauls of our living arrangements. This weekend is one of those moments. We found a dresser on craigslist that will work as a changing table and will allow us to move Desmond into the bedroom and us into the "dining room." Desmond having his own room is a perfect excuse for an Ikea visit, an opportunity to pick up a kid's rug and some other things we need around the house.
Everyone, I think, must have a similar attraction to Ikea, especially on a quiet, unbusy afternoon. In fact, I just listened to a radio story about the store's opening in China which was promptly occupied by bored teenagers who used the little living rooms and kitchens and bedrooms as hang-out spaces in which to pass a lazy summer evening. With some meatballs on the side, this sounds like a perfect idea!
Yes, walking through the alternative universes of practically decorated spaces is inspirational and exciting and gets my synapses firing. Things on the top floor usually go okay for me. It's when we hit the "marketplace" that I begin to lose my mind-grapes. I know what it looks like from inside my shoes -- like a blur. I scan this cutely designed, reasonably priced object and before I can tell what the hell I'm looking at, I spy something across the aisle equally priced and just as cute. Should I get this colander, or this one? $4.99 or 9.99? Or this one for $11.99? But I have a colander. But this one is 4.99. or 11.99. These are colanders here, in front me. The one at home I can't see right now, so how do I know if it's as good as this one, that's only $9.99? I'm a mess, and it lasts the entire hour or so that I'm careening through the basement maze.
David is the exact opposite of me. But despite what you'd think, this does not help matters. His opposite to me is not calm, rational consumerism -- the kind that would gently chuckle at my mania and calmly remind me of all the colanders and hand towels and glass vases we already own. He is the kind of opposite that walks into the marketplace with a look of extreme skepticism and a resolute NO already formed on his lips. As I told him yesterday, he's like Desmond has become with the new foods we try to feed him: he pokes at it suspiciously and then closes his eyes and turns his head in disgust. This attitude does not counteract my frenzy. I think it may feed it, because now not only do I have to choose the items among all the items on my own, but I also have to yell at David and tell him to look at this thing in my hand, we need it right? Look at it! If only he'd look at it.
5 comments:
They look, these husbands, but they do not see.
Mindgrapes!!!
I heard something about that too, that in China (and was it Japan also?) people hang out in Ikea. I've also heard of folks stateside taking advantage of their free childcare to go on dates in the store. Eat the meatballs and gaze deep into your lover's eyes. But the store in Atlanta only offers 45 minutes(!) of childcare. I need more gazing time than that.
Take pics of your new acquisitions!
Oh IKEA. That greatest of tests and marital trials. Sometimes Mike and I go there on Sunday afternoon, when there is bound to be a lot of traffic. We carbo load on vegetarian potatoes based side-dishes (which are, by the way, delicious) and then we cut straight to the market place where we put everything in sight in our cart. When I ask, "don't you think we need a new duvet cover?" Mike shrugs, which, frankly, is more annoying than saying no. By the time we hit the fabric section, my favorite, we might not be speaking. We get to the end and I hide everything in our cart in some bin right before the checkout line and we spend 30 minutes picking through the scraps of the "damaged" section. Then we stand in line for 20 minutes to buy the two towels I picked out.
I ask if he wants a froyo on our way out the door and he shrugs.
It is not clear how David resists the siren song of Ikea. Does he condition himself for weeks ahead of each visit? Does he stare at the Ikea catalog and think "I HATE you I HATE you I HATE you" for hours?
No! In fact, he looks through the catalogue looking at all the things he wants to buy. He goes willingly to Ikea. It's just that, once he's there, in a place screaming "BUY! BUY! BUY!" -- unlike myself who says, "Yes, thank you. I think I shall." -- he says, "You can't tell me what to do." Then promptly shuts his eyes, plugs his ears, and holds his breath.
you and i clearly need to go to ikea together.
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