Much as I’d love to dwell in the warm afterglow of my good news forever, I need to get back to work. So let’s jump right into it, shall we?
Do you have any IKEA furniture in your home? Probably you do.
So then later, you manage to get all the stuff tied onto the roof rack, and you get it all home, and you don’t fully realize that what you've done is sentence yourself to staring at blond-wood pine furniture for a decade or more. And actually, now that you look at it carefully, some of it’s not really even pine. It’s some kind of composite stuff, and when you put the doors on that wardrobe you bought, you can’t get the hinges straight, and you don’t care what the friggin’ directions say, there must be a damned screw missing or something.
Well, tough Swedish meatballs, because you’re good and screwed. You've got an entire apartment full of the stuff now. And little do you know that after ten or twelve or sixteen years of looking at that IKEA stuff – the table and the end table and the night stands and the wardrobe -- you will swear on Thor’s hammer that you will not enter into the fourth decade of your life with a single piece of IKEA furniture in your house because you HATE IT LIKE LINGONBERRIES.
Where am I going with this? Hell, if I know. I just had IKEA furniture on my mind today. Actually I think I had intended to make a point about how sometimes you get this idea for writing about one thing, but then it transforms into something else. You start off thinking, hey, this is a great idea but then, after a while, you sort of realize that your idea is just, you know, kind of stupid.
Obviously things got away from me.