Day Sixty-Nine: The Wonderful World of Ikea

This afternoon, in a depressed and "damn-it-all" state, I drove for thirty minutes to my nearest wonderland of furniture, Ikea. Ikea and I have had a long and joyous relationship, and they never let me down. Granted, I have gone to Ikea to window shop and write down things I want to buy someday more times than I have actually gone to Ikea to buy anything, but it's a fascinating walk-through Please-Touch museum of buyables and ingenious household items for Walmart prices. It's trendy, it's colorful, and the best part is, it's instant and you get to build the furniture yourself. I love Ikea.

Most people don't want to be hassled with pulling a cardboard box heavier than themselves, full of various pieces of fiberboard that they have to piece together themselves with a set of Lego-like instructions and an Allen wrench. I'm assuming, that most people go to Ikea because they can get nice-looking furniture at insanely cheap prices. I, actually, love building Ikea furniture. On several occasions, I have said that if I ever fail at all other things in my life I want to acheive, I will become a professional Ikea furniture assembler. I love piecing pre-cut wood together to create furniture I can actually use. To me, it's a grand project that gives me tangible and proud results. So I entered the epic theme park of furniture with a coming sense of accomplishment.

As I steered my huge cart in and out of crowds of wandering parents and screaming children, I collected a scarf rack, a couple lamps, a set of kitchen tongs, five sets of curtains, two oven mitts, a small saucepot, and a kitchen tool canister, and a mirror for $100. Although it was absolutely insanely crowded and I wanted to run everyone down with my cart, I still enjoyed the experience, and got a lot accomplished.

I did not, however, buy any furniture. And it was this trip to Ikea that gave me a good idea of why people might possibly hate buying their own "assembly required" furniture.

As I dutifully walked my cart up the appropriate aisle for my small, light, and affordable coffee table and stopped at the designated bin, I surveyed the size of the box holding my bits of table, and then the size of the cart. Although the cart was huge, the box was huge-r. And although the coffee table was small and light, the box was not-so-small, and definitely NOT light. I tugged at the box in vain, moving it only a few inches off it's stack of friends. I could not do this myself. I would need to return with a strong man, and possibly a sport utility vehicle. A dark cloud loomed over my sense of handiness.

So although building my furniture might be fun, I'm a little frightened about getting it home...and up three flights of stairs, for that matter. Building it will probably be fun, assuming I don't screw up and end up with a Picasso-esque coffee table and dresser. But I am becoming more and more grateful that I inherited a side table, a TV stand, and a couch. But I suppose we'll see.