Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Children Go Where I Send Thee

This is my version of interptative dance.

It all started because I just needed a simple black frame. I got creative and made a simple print for a gift. So I went to where I buy all my frames that I need to look classy but cheap (I think I just found another way to describe myself.) IKEALAND! I call it IKEALAND for one reason alone you get lost amongst the pretty displays and then end up in the gift shop. Just like Disneyland! Except for grow ups and instead of cool toys you get furniture, and have the huge potential to get lost amongst housewares and lighting. 

I was going in with a plan. I memorized where I was going to go. I was a dedicated single warrior alone on a Friday night looking for that one frame to complete me. What nobody told me was that apparently Friday nights is Hipster Mormon family night at IKEALAND Draper. I've never seen so many beanies, skinny pants on men, greased up hair and glasses with no lenses. So much facial hair. It was like Portlandia but without the cleaver sayings and a lot more kids in reusable diapers. To be fair they may not have all been Mormon but Draper is just a hop skip and a jump away from Provo the land of minivans and righteousness. * I live in Ogden. The dark land up north. Where I carry my shank knife named kindness (thanks Anjelah Johnston for that joke)*

Anyway I dodged the discussions over the white plate veruses the beige plate and screaming child meltdowns in glass wares. Such volume. I grabbed and like a desperate weary warrior I searched for my ending in which I was rewarded with 30% off and a cinnamon roll. * Hello undeserved carbs!* 

It was when I was pulling into my parking spot an hour later when I realized I had bought the wrong size. No worries I thought. I'll just go down and exchange it. Hah. So a week went past and I began my annual trek of sharing my fat goodness through out the land. I had endured a painful session of Fat rehab and driving in a Mini Convertible in the dark on the interstate in the land of Surban Mommy Assault vehicles (aka the Surban or the Honda Odyssey) into the scary congested heartland sent cold chills down my spine. Yet it is Christmas Eve Eve and I don't have a choice. 

I came prepared in my cool hipster clothes. Okay not really more like my I've been wearing this for 13 hours I'm tired and I haven't ironed cause I'm lazy clothes. So I go in. No line at returns! Woo! Fancy furniture in which to sit even better. Then I realized it was like the DMV you had to get a number (keep in mind I'm the only person) so I do it. I stand there waiting and waiting till I smell cinnamon rolls and coffee apparently the guy behind me had been to this Rodeo before. I realized I was going to have to flirt like my life depended on it to get a return *see broke and forgot receipt* which surprisingly went well.  Again I went into the jungle of the relationship destruction. *Forget marriage consueling if you and your fiancĂ© can navigate IKEALAND together and not go into full arguement melt down you deserve to marry each other. They should just call it you are going to yell at each other and argue over couch styles and yes you should say your sorry for not liking Puce land*

I grabbed the wrong size again. See previous paragraph with more annoyed cashier. Finally left IKEALAND a older more wise person as I drove away I realized I could have done all of this a lot cheaper if I had gone to Tar-Jay. D'ho! 

Horrors. So many horrors. Will somebody hold me?

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