Go to Ikea. With a list. Purchase furniture specified on said list. How hard can that be?
Except that I sent two men. “Get in, get out, don’t get caught.” Isn’t that the man’s shopping motto? That should make it easy.
But this was a Saturday. Combined with a “free food” day. Farfignuggen for all. And yes, apparently everyone in the state was there.
Several phone calls later, a voice resembling my husband’s called me to proclaim, “you hate me. You sent me to hell!”
Being the dramatic type, I chuckled and figured that just meant there was no express lane. Until another phone call came on the drive home.
The first words were indecipherable but went something like, “Aurghghghgh, Aurghghgh.”
“Honey, is that you?” I turned on the sweet realizing that a little kissing up might be in order.
“What size is Jess’s bed?!” he demanded.
This can’t be good. “Um, queen.”
“Dog gone it, dog gone it! I asked for a queen but I think they gave me a twin!”
I grimaced as I asked the apparently stupidest question in the world. “So… are you going back?” The reply included something to the effect of, “are you crazy?!”
I take it that’s a no? Yah, big time no.
It’s then that I began judge. How hard can it be? Look at the list. Buy stuff on the list. Look at the boxes of stuff and make sure it matches the list. How exactly does one end up with the wrong stuff? And then how do you figure it out half way home? Shaking my head, I sighed. That’s what I get for sending men.
Well, they came home and the good news is that as we looked at the boxes – everything was correct after all. My faith in men and shopping was slightly restored.
For several hours the men folk sweated to complete the 43 steps in the assembly process of building a bed, including making the drawers underneath. I began to feel slightly guilty. I brought cold water. When they spilled it, I didn’t even complain. I just brought more. I was nice to these sweaty semi-capable men.
Then, as they finished the final piece and set the mattress on top of it, I heard the yell heard round the world. “Mary!!!”
I ran into the room to find my daughter’s very DOUBLE sized mattress sitting on a humungous QUEEN sized frame.
Mere words can not describe my feelings at that moment in time. My mind wondered how it was possible my daughter’s bed shrunk.
Finally I was forced to concede that maybe I had made a little mistake. Pretty sad in light of the fact that I was looking at my men folk as incompetent even though they spent the whole day and now evening buying and assembling for me exactly what was on the list. I on the other hand, couldn’t even be trusted to provide the right size.
But God in His wisdom knows that I am blonde and provides for the likes of someone like me. You see, my son happened to have a queen size mattress that was too big for his room. Instead, he wanted a double. So, there you go. We swapped them out. Easy peasy.
That wasn’t so hard. 🙂