Confession: My apartment is lousy with Ikea. But it’s not for any love for the brick-and-mortar store (or butik, to the Swedes out there).
As I seek out my malm bureau, I realize I should have picked up a bag of meatballs from the giant cooler in the Swedish Food Market so I could leave a trail. Even with the help of the signage that seems to sprout around every corner like skinny kvart lampposts, I’m lost in the mousetrap, or should I say mouseträpp?
The Ikea habitrail is rivaled only by Gaylord Opryland Hotel, a distant second. They should just put a giant hamster wheel and a water dropper by the entrance and make it official. Clogged with kids hopped up on lingonberries and couples quarreling over the merits of vanvik vs. florö bedframes, the aisles of Ikea are sure to bring on a headache faster than the time it takes to fill up your cart with crap that’s not on your list. Instead of monster bags of tealights, Ikea should fill the endcaps with bins of ibuprofin. Ädvil is a name that would be right at home in this Swedish funhouse; just don’t forget the umlaut.
[Thanks to Dave Miller for this suggestion!]