There have been several trips to Ikea in the last few months. I’ll admit that I have had a passionate Italian sort of relationship with Ikea in the past, but I think I’m really done.
It’s not that Ikea is a bad thing, as far as those big companies go. The whole Swedish thing earns them style points, and at least they don’t seem to be supporting political organizations that make me cringe. I’ve never lived near to an Ikea, so it’s always held a glow for me, and when Joey and I walked into our first blue and yellow warehouse when we were on our honeymoon in Montreal over eight years ago, we were overcome with the possibility. It seemed that with the right organizational tools, with the stuva and karlbad, we really could create a life where everything had its place, and we could do it for so little money. I always have to ask how I’m paying for something so inexpensive if it’s not with money (child labor? horrible ownership?), but while all the other corporations around them show their colors, they stay pretty clean. I’ve been to Ikea maybe 5 times since that first one, and every time I catch the bug, and I transform our bedroom with a kvass duvet cover or I find the perfect duktig basket for the girls doll clothes that are strewn all over the floor. Retail and redecoration therapy all at once.
I have only one question. What is that language? It’s not Swedish, is it?
Next time I’ll try Pepe’s. But as I’m done with Ikea, I’ll have to go to New Haven just for the pizza.