"I don’t want a new outfit, I want a fucking wardrobe!"…


Fine dining at IKEA

…says my wife. This is the second time in less than seven days that I’ve been to IKEA and the third time in a month. I tell her this is proof, if proof is needed that I really love her. “Isn’t the wardrobe for you as well?” I hear you ask, gentle reader. It is in the sense that my clothes will no doubt be in it (if it ever comes back into stock) but it isn’t for me in that I would just as happily live out of a carrier bag/suitcase/pig sty.

Today was the turn of the Lakeside branch having been to Edmonton (“It’s fucking murders there,” as my ex-brother-in-law might have said) twice previously. This was simply because the internet led my wife to believe it was in stock there whereas Edmonton had sold out. This is no doubt because the wardrobe she’d like to score is the only one that might possibly have come from Heal’s (but only on a dark night with your eyes half-shut). Anyway, as you already guessed it was out-of-stock despite the computer’s belief that there were three stacked up in the shelves-and-pallet-hell just before checkout. Yol was pretty upset and the three stacking cardboard boxes, hand towel and shower-curtain didn’t really begin to make up for it. I suggested a hot dog and after that (and a small fries and drink) she cheered up a bit. It was in the car as we were leaving the IKEA carpark that I suggested she might like to buy a new outfit at the nearby Lakeside shopping centre. Mr IKEA, she really really wants that wardrobe. Please help.

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