Ikealogy

Last week was a doozy. I just couldn't get my act together - partly a result of lots of travelling recently and not enough time at home. So things pile up. I was afraid to sort through the pile of mail, certain I had missed deadlines and forgot to pay for stuff. I especially dread those brown envelopes from Her Majesty's revenue service. I've lived here over 4 years now and I still don't understand the tax codes and the system at large. Not that I really understood the US system but at least it has an air of familiarity. Clamoring for attention in my monkey brain was an equally complex pile of laundry, a long banal list of things 'to do', and just general anxiety about the world financial systems collapsing around us. So no biggie.

I turned up the Undertones and got busy. Little by little things got better, I could see the light. All was looking right with the world. Until I made the mistake of uttering the one word that fills G with panic and dread: Ikea.

I cheerfully insisted we cruise on over to the Swedish superstore on Saturday to pick up some bits to help us organize the house, all the while exclaiming, "It's not so bad", "I'll be quick", "They have a nice design ethos", "We really need some stuff," "We can get some meatballs," etc. I think he felt sorry for me because I have been such a wreck the last couple of weeks, so off we went.

Once in the labyrinth, we dutifully followed the arrows on the gray linoleum path and I tried really hard not to get distracted by all the little particle-board rooms and seductive merchandising. We actually found what we wanted relatively quickly, navigated the aisle/location system, checked out and were on our way back in around an hour and a half. The trouble started, however, once we got home.

We bought these two red lamps for our living room, which G happily assembled and switched on. He called me in to take a look. They look fantastic! But wait, what's that buzzing sound? Is that normal? Oh, I say, we can live with that. We won't even notice once there is ambient noise in the room. But then, both lights start this weird vibrating and flickering like in a cheap motel. THAT we could not find a way to live with and THAT was what sparked the row that followed.

The idea that now we would have to go back to Ikea was simply too much for us to handle. There was lots of screaming and hollering about cheap crap, made in China, waste of time, what did you expect. I threw back some nonsense about what the hell else did we have to do and how I was sorry for going there but I just couldn't live in a bare room anymore. Then G, probably thinking about how his life was slipping away arguing about nothing and everything, looked at his Swiss watch and saw that it had actually stopped at 2pm - while deep inside the Ikea vortex. I couldn't argue with that.

The dysfunctional lamps (actually made in Poland) are packed up and by the door, ready for their return trip this week. I think we'll just drop them off by the door and run.