Although I don't recall opening any beers today, I was clearly drunk, as I somehow let Franny convince me to go to IKEA. Going to a store isn't typically news, but this one just opened a couple weeks ago after much waiting by the community and is still under the Port of Portland's traffic management plan designed for a ridiculously large number of incoming shoppers. I mentioned this to Franny and noted that it was a weekend to boot, but she countered that it was late on Sunday and it was dinner time. For some unknown reason, this logic worked.
We parked on an auxiliary grass lot because of the sign reading, "IKEA LOT FULL, DO NOT ENTER!" It's a good thing everybody was home eating dinner, or we might have had to park on the interstate. The store was exactly as crowded as you might imagine.
We went there looking for an enclosed cabinet of some sort to hide the Mizz's multitude of plastic junk taking over our living room. We found a nice set of shelves to which we attached the optional doors, which for some reason, more than double the cost of the unit.
That part was fine, but I had to do it while trying to ignore the stroller, which was hollering, "Are you done yet?" meaning he was done, and, "I wanna go home," meaning, I assume, that he wanted to go home. If that didn't get my attention, he also occasionally screamed and then pointed out that he was, in fact, "too loud." With my other ear, I also got to hear, "What do you think about this in the kitchen?" and "I've been wanting one of these," in all cases referring to things that we did not walk into the store intending to buy. I'm pretty sure IKEA's marketing and design team had Franny specifically in mind. It worked beautifully. (Full disclosure: they do have to fine stuff, and in a less crowded and less Mizz-intensive atmosphere, I might have shared her wonder.)
However, it's now over and we have a nice little cabinet hiding some of the ever-present kid-related clutter. Franny and I and the Mizz are all happy with the outcome, and the Mizz thinks I can build anything. "Daddy make a cab-i-net." Between putting together furniture and changing light bulbs, that kid thinks I'm Superman and can do anything.
Just out of curiosity, at what age will he make the jump to thinking I'm an imbecile who can't be trusted to work his own VCR and who is an embarrassment to have as a blood relative?
That story was probably far longer than necessary. Sorry about that.
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1 comment:
Too funny. You captured the experience perfectly. In fact, it was I who was drunk/impaired. It seems that I have a chronic inability to wander into a store, go directly to want I came for and purchase it. Plus, I seem to have built up a higher tolerance to the "R U all dones?" If I paid them any attention, Mizz would be wearing a diaper from sixth months ago, there would be no food in the house, and Mommy would be insane.
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