I spent a day (and I mean the WHOLE day) at ikea last week, shopping for the various pieces of furniture we needed. I love the crazy swedish names of all the products, the way you must follow the proscribed route through the store, otherwise you will be forever lost, and doomed to live in the store for eternity. I love the little pencils and paper tape measures so thoughtfully provided so you can take notes and measure stuff to your hearts content as you wander idly through the store. I'm not so much in love with the screaming children who dash out at you when you least expect it, so that your kneee connects with their wee heads with a sickening thud mid stride.
The boxes were delivered on Monday and Richard has spent two grueling evenings on his hands and knees assembling my purchases. My contribution to the construction process was fetching beer at regular intervals and passing him the screwdriver with the precision of a surgical nurse, "Screwdriver, STAT!"
In honour of ikea, we will name our first child Malm.