There is this place. Maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s called “Ikea” [‘eye’-KEE-uh]. Sound familiar? (Read with sarcasm.)
It’s a Scandinavian Wonder. (You may or may not read with sarcasm, depending on your connection to Ikea)
If you haven’t been inside, at least, maybe, you’re eyes have beheld its blue and yellow box of a structure that beckons to the masses, including you, to come in and solve all your “organizational” problems, or your “empty apartment” problems, or your “I need some inexpensive mass produced, cool looking furniture” problems, or possibly your “I’m hungry and really need some Swedish meatballs and Lingonberry juice” problems. Whatever it is, Ikea will make all your dreams come true. (A hint of sarcasm in the first loooooong sentence, not in the last sentence.)
We like Ikea.
It mostly stems from my husband having planted some serious roots in the land of Denmark for two years of his life. Ikea was alive and well there. But it also stems from rebuilding the Blue Bungalow in a way that is interesting and “us” (aka fun)(jk) (no sarcasm).
I don’t care how mass produced the stuff there is. It really does make my dreams come true. You know, that dream of finishing a house. We are one more step closer. Did you read that? Another step (in about 1,000) closer. The Blue Bungalow and I are getting along right now. She is my refining fire towards patience. She has devoured my soul more than once but I am triumphant (and repentant), and all will be well.
And my husband is kind. Very kind. (It is possible to use sarcasm here for the sake of humor but will not allow it for the sake of our marriage.)