A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to IKEA

 So this week, as we continue the theme of everything deciding after a year of only living with us, the machines are all quitting, the furniture followed suit.  Out one bed and a few drawers, we opted to do as the Swedes do...and went to that store known for three things...making Americans follow a maze without having a ride at the end, selling furniture Mjollnir like in temperment, refusing to be assembled by those it deems not worthy, and the unique capacity to make people not presumably under duress, part with money to purchase frozen sweedish meatballs for human consumption.   

We purchased a bed after an hour of walking around, and two desks and yes, even some Sweedish meatballs.  My second oldest started assembly, my desk was easy.  My daughter's bed, not so much.  It seemed we'd neglected to purchase the right slats and the base bar. We also accidentally purchased a full rather than twin...but that, we could deal with so the next day, we drove again to the Ikea (it's an hour there each time).  

Home again, home again, jiggity jig, and we can't open the bar. It's supposed to expand.  We tried WD40, we tried olive oil, and we had three people pulling as hard as they could --with visions of someone being impaled by the process if the damn thing gave.   My son decided to try a hair dryer.  To our surprise, he was able to slide the bar with ease. It did give him bragging rights, especially since everyone else had tried and failed.   I told him to tell his older sister, there was a simpler explanation...we were not worthy.   

The mattress we need arrives tomorrow...and the sheets and comforter that would fit, on Tuesday, so sometime after March 9th, my daughter will have a working bed and maybe, a full night's sleep.   

As for me, four hours of driving and an equal amount of frustration for four adults and satisfaction for one modest but still somehow smug teen and I microwaved the meatballs for dinner, vowing never to darken the doors of the most overrated Sweedish import since the SAAB, Hagar the Horrible and, well I do like ABBA.   

I do however, love my new desk and the breakfast table, having caught wind of the recent wave of revolutions by inanimate objects, feels wobbly.