My heart belongs at Ikea

The first time I stepped foot into an IKEA, I didn’t have too many expectations other than leaving with the items my husband and I had come to buy: curtains, bedding and side tables for our living room. What I got was so much more.

Breakfast! 
        Lamps!
                Inspiration!

Our house turned from white walls and bare wood floors to something much cozier. And a little nuttier. Just our style. Orange curtains and light blue side tables? Yes, please! Silver lamps with black mirrors? Sure, why not?

IKEA is our JAM.

Every now and then, we realize we need something from IKEA. We scour the website to make sure it’s the only thing we need, and then we begin our pilgrimage. We finally ride that smooth escalator up to the show room floor, and steady on, we shop.

This most recent trip was no different. It was time to get rid of our old table. It had been good to us—me in particular, since it had followed me all the way from college. It was too big for our dining room, and had unknown origins since it had been found on the side of the road in New Jersey. The finish was coming off, and it had been stained by one too many beer pong tournaments in college. Then Jeff found its replacement - thirty-five dollars worth of bright green table.

If you’ve never been to IKEA, let me explain a few things. When you enter, you enter into the show room. This is where they have set up fake living environments for you to see their pieces at work. When you like something, you turn over its tag and write down the item’s specific magical numbers. These numbers translate to where you will find it in the basement.

Descending down into the basement, (not at all spooky like the one you grew up with) you swipe a dolly/shopping cart with the perfect turn radius, and enter the stocking room to gather your previously chosen items. The aisles are wide, tall, and rival any big box store you’ve ever been to. This is apparently why you pay so little for their wares—you get your own stuff instead of paying someone else wearing a laborer’s cummerbund to get it for you. Genius.

Travel a little further into the belly of the basement, and you can check out. You finally get to take it all home with you in your car that might be too small for your massive haul. Unless you have a wagon - you should get a wagon.

And while my love for IKEA’s physical store and stuffs is obvious, I think my love is also because it is the one store that explains some of the reasons I love my husband the most.

I love that I have a husband who, while he be daring and design savvy enough to instigate the buying of a bright green table, will also be cool and handy enough to be able to wire our house so our new lighting rig (that HE made) actually works.

I love that my husband will up and decide that the two of us should get in the car and drive on gorgeous back roads while listening to music or discussing the most mundane of things, all just to get one item. OK… fifteen items.

So friends, I don't know that IKEA will make you feel the warm tingle of the Swedish love bubble I feel, but I think it might just be worth a shot. Don't you?