I just hauled home a van-load of Ikea products: a sofa, set of bunk beds, two dressers, four floor lamps, a six-and-a-half-foot-tall mirror and two jumbo tubs of general housewares.
I liked shopping for it all. I like shopping Ikea. There, I get the feeling anythingís possible. I can see myself myself living along clean, modern lines, surrounded by gorgeous, talented Scandinavian friends and family. I enjoy the cafeteria. I look forward to the frozen yogurt after checkout.
But home, the stuff, set up, is crap.
Iím not Ikea material.