Adventures in Ikea-land

Let me start off by saying that I have come to despise Black Friday/Post-Thanksgiving holiday shopping about as much as I dislike everything else about the holiday season. Given that I’m probably the poorest person I know (OK, slight exaggeration, but I’m definitely bottom-five), the idea of semi-mandatory spending on gifts for people who already own seven times as much junk as me just breeds resentment. On the other hand, when my roommate tells me that he’s moving out immediately after the new year and I realized that I own exactly one piece of furniture in my living and dining rooms combined, hitting up the sales became mandatory.

This weekend, my father and I went to Ikea in Tempe to buy cheap, reasonably presentable stuff. I wanted to go to Ikea not only because they have everything, but because I’ve never left an Ikea feeling sad. I don’t know what it is about the place. Maybe it’s because they can help you to imagine a fabulous life…

…Or help you, um, open a beauty salon?

…Is it because they can find you a new friend….

…Or because any heart can be warmed by a set of plasticy-shiny Stråla…

…Or because any stomach can be warmed by a satisfying lunch at the Ikea cafe?

And this? I don’t know… Sure.

The magic of Ikea is hard to define; it just is. I can tell you my father was enthralled with everything. Even a retired technician, it seems, can appreciate good design, easy assembly, and volume. I left with several new items, which we spent most of the weekend assembling. I didn’t get all of the deals that I wanted, and I have yet to replace all the items I’m losing when roommate leaves, but it feels good to sit down at the end of the day in a room of things that are mine, that aren’t hand-me-downs, and that I acquired on a memorable, fun day with someone I love.

 

 

 

 

 

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