Monday, 10 April 2017

The 10 Stages of a Family Trip To Ikea

1. Preperation.

You tell yourselves you'll make a list beforehand, taking down each items product code so you can go straight through to the warehouse and not get distracted in the Marketplace.
You'll leave the kids at home, and go one evening after work. Hey it'll be nice to get out just the two of you! You laugh when your husband suggests all you'll come back with is "Candles and shit"

2. The Journey.

Childcare has fallen through so you make the first mortal mistake of going at the weekend.
You're desperately trying to convince yourselves that it "Won't be that bad" but you both know deep down it will be. It will be just as bad as you remember.

Halfway through the journey you both realise that one of you the husband  has forgotten the list of things you needed and all the product codes. You try to log in to the Ikea website on your phone but have no wifi Consider throwing phone out of window. You have the first row of 547 rows that married couples have during a trip to Ikea.

Your 10 year old looks at you with disgust when you suggest her playing in the Ikea soft play.

3. The Car Park.

Point out several perfectly good car parking spaces which your husband obviously ignores. He decides he's going to park "A bit closer to the entrance" You helpfully remind him that it's Ikea, on a Saturday and there won't be any but hey, he knows best.
He clearly doesn't because there ARE no spaces. The ones you pointed out? Have now all been taken by husbands who actually listen to their wives.
Drive around the car park 48 times. Want to punch husband in the face.

Ikea. Causing marital rows since 1987

4. The Doors of Doom

You've parked up and you walk through the sliding doors into self assembly hell.
It's rammed with couples who look like they want to kill each other because A} they have been made to come to Ikea on a Saturday or B} Because they couldn't find a parking space either.
Children are either strapped inside a trolley they're too big for OR running around dangerously close to baskets of glasses and kitchenware.

You tell yourselves it's going to be a bit like a shop raid. In and Out as fast as you can, you won't stop for meatballs or a hot dog.

5. The Cafe.

You decide food is needed for fuel. And that fuel is meatballs.
You try and find a table whilst your husband orders the food and attempts to keep an eye on your child who has disappeared into the abyss of the drinks machine.
He clearly isn't doing a good job of keeping an eye on her as you spot her mixing about three fizzy drinks together, so that'll be something to enjoy later when the buzz has worn off.

Finding a table is worse than finding a parking space and you tut loudly at people who have finished but are still sat chatting. Putting off the inevitable doom like you probably.....

6. The Showroom

You're pretty sure they design the showroom as some sort of maze to stop you leaving. Because after you've done one lap of it, you find yourselves at the beginning again and no where near the exit.
You see lots of inspirational, clever space saving and storage solutions and realise your house lacks all of them. You decide you need them all, they will make your house more organised and therefore your LIFE more organised.
Ikea has given you a bit of a spiritual awakening to be honest, your husband is just shaking his head at you a lot, muttering about how much all this is going to cost (hardly anything it's all so cheap you say) and shutting the draws that your child keeps opening to look inside.

7. The Marketplace.

It's designed basically to make you BUY stuff you don't need, but it's cheap so you find yourselves falling for it. You fall for all of it.
The first thing to go in your trolley are candles obviously, then picture frames and candle holders. Basically all the shit your husband said you were going to buy. By the time you've got to the glassware, that looks like it's been stacked to actively encourage small children to knock them on the floor, you've forgotten everything you went in there for.
You take one of those pencils and pieces of paper to note down all the clever storage solutions you are buying.

8. The Self Service Furniture Area.

You are trying to help navigate the trolley your child is insisting  they push, but actually can't because it's too heavy. At this point you are too drained to argue, the trolley is overflowing with crap that even you know you didn't need. Everything keeps falling out and you keep putting it back in, you want to punch yourself in the face and wish you'd ordered all this shit online.
You are trying to be helpful by shouting out the product codes and aisle numbers to your husband for the stuff you have no idea how your going to get home. Your husband then proceeds to not find any of them.
When he finally does, you've wandered off to the sale area and wonder if you need a sideboard with a massive scratch down the side?  When you spot the other half sweating and dragging flat pack furniture behind him looking a bit cross, you decide not to ask.

9. The Till

You argue over which till to use, then pick one that obviously is going to keep you there until closing. You also keep picking up random crap dotted around, as if you are appearing on Supermarket Sweep.
The tilling process in Ikea is more stressful than Aldi any day. You try to make sure your husband packs everything properly and doesn't smash all the glassware you didn't need into the trolley.

You ask your husband if you should get this delivered, he say's it will easily fit in the car. You think it won't. You quietly row about this under your breaths, with fake smiles on your face  until the cashier looks a bit uncomfortable.

This little trip to Ikea for a few essential bits and pieces has cost £323.95 and obviously you haven't got any of the 48 blue Ikea bags with you from home.

10, The Return Journey.

After you have navigated your way to the car, and your child has attempted to steer the trolley directly into oncoming traffic. You both look at the boot and then the trolley, and then you panic.
Your husband tries to cram everything in, using every available space.

Flat pack furniture is dangerously close to your child's head on the back seat and when you helpfully suggest home delivery again he mutters the F""" word a lot under his breath. You decide to pop to the loo and  just leave him to it.

When you return 30 minutes later as you get distracted by diam bars, he's gone.

Several sweary phonecalls later you find out that he's driven around to the exit to collect you.
You drive home  in silence, apart from your child whose fizzy drink buzz is still strong and bouncing off the car roof. Well,  if her head could reach the car roof that is. It is currently pinned to the window by a shelving unit.

You decide not to mention the fact you have now found the Ikea shopping list, and have come away without  at least 80 per cent of it.

Maybe another trip next week?

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