The trick to surviving a trip to IKEA is to maintain your sense of humor. You’ll need it when you try to measure anything longer than a child’s palm with the store-provided tape measures; shuffle through housewares with 4,000 of your closest friends; talk to employees or, better still, find employees. They hide. They see you coming and they hide like socks, keys, and bank fees.
Sunday was great. We knew exactly what we needed and went straight to the warehouse. Then we wheeled out all our items and looked back and forth between the trunk space and our purchases.
I shared my thoughts.
“I don’t know…”
He shared his thoughts.
“It’s gonna fit. It’s gonna fit because we’re not making two trips.”
To his credit he made it fit. He had to open boxes and play Tetris with furniture, but he made it fit. I was impressed, and meant to tell him so, but when I opened my door and found him sitting not an inch away from the steering wheel, knees up as if he was in stirrups waiting for a speculum, well, I dropped the enormous box of slipcovers I was holding and laughed until I couldn’t breathe. Then I wiped the tears from my eyes, took another look at him, and started laughing all over again.
I knew he was good at space planning, but I had no idea he was so limber.