Hark, the herald angels sing! They’re singing, “You need to finish your Christmas shopping. Also, buy more furniture so you can have people over to your apartment for the holidays without fretting about your lack of chairs.”
Good advice, loud celestial beings in my head. And what better place for my needs than Ikea?
Katie and I headed out there this morning and on the way to Elizabeth, we took a wrong turn, which afforded her an opportunity to point out the grassy marshes the mafia favor for dumping corpses. Upon arrival we hit customer service and Katie tried to return the dish-drying rack she bought during our last visit, but the clerk wouldn’t accept it because he said the store no longer stocked it. Perhaps, Katie suggested, that was because it was a flimsy piece of shit that would sooner allow dishes to roll off the counter than it would dry them. Unmoved, the clerk wouldn’t even give her store credit.
Although Christmas is fast approaching, the crowds today weren’t any worse than usual. We moseyed along and checked out the showrooms, several of which contained weary customers taking catnaps on the display beds. I wanted a coffee table, but the nice one that matches my kitchen table was too expensive for me this month. Katie put much consideration and browsing power into purchasing a chandelier for her living room, but she couldn’t find a model with all the features she wanted.
I bought a kitchen chair to match the one I already have and went a little nuts with the impulse purchases. Those included a brick of 100 tea lights and four equally inexpensive glass holders, a new shower-supply caddy to replace the rust-cornered one I have now, silver-and-gold Christmas wrapping paper and a floor lamp to illuminate the love-seat reading area of my living room.