I am in a Relationship with Ikea and it's Complicated.

I am lucky enough to live in a city with an Ikea. Or maybe I should say, I unfortunately live in a city with an Ikea. Ikea might be my only vice (Unless you count Deet, my favorite carcinogen ) I am not sure if it is the $4.99 Swedish Meatballs or the new colors that the Lack table comes in, but I am drawn to Ikea like the moth to the flame.

I own two of the above. 

About every two months I decide that I have to go to Ikea for one really small thing and I will be in and out in ten minutes flat.  (That is pretty much the biggest lie ever.) Most recently (which is the same as every time) I had to run in and get some spice containers because all of my Indian spices some how soaked in to my graham crackers and now I have curry flavored s'mores. 

So anyway, I venture into Ikea. I am just going to go straight down to the kitchenwares section, grab my two packs of RAJTAN spice jars, but I smell the food. So I go up to the cafe and find myself with $15 worth of mediocre food that I some how can't stop myself from buying or eating. 

Seriously the perfect spice jar.

So after I go through all of the lines I end up with a plate of chicken tenders that may or may not be 100% meat, macaroni and cheese that I know is terrible but always looks delicious in the tub, and some cold garlic bread. I  already had to smash down my compulsion to buy a princess cake (that I know is super cute, but tastes of cardboard), Swedish meat balls, little cartons of DRYCK LINGON, and about nine bars of chocolate. So far I am doing pretty good.

As I sit at my little table and try to enjoy the feast of plenty I have just purchased, I start to look at my surroundings. Of course all of the walls are covered in stretched fabric that looks awesome. I start thinking that I could do this. Wouldn't my living room look wonderful with that stretched right about my couch? And the flower shaped soft lights be the perfect finishing touch. I feel confident that it will bring a whole new level of sophistication to my apartment. Experience tells me however, that I will buy all of the supplies and then they will sit in their packaging in the back of my closet until I move at which time they will be binned.

From there I make my way through the entire show room. I didn't mean to go through it, but I cannot stop myself. I HAVE to see what my apartment could look like if I had unlimited Ikea funds and was not a terminal clutter-er. I write down and take photos of approximately  every item. Then I hit the basement. This is where the real danger awaits.

It starts off with a display of bamboo. I want them. I want them all. I could put them in every room in different cute little vases which I can find in the home decorating section. It does not matter in the five years that I have been shopping at Ikea I have already committed a genocide against these very bamboo. I buy them and murder them one after the other.  I have to stop myself from putting three in the cart.

They're so cute... when they're not dead.

I some how manage to make it to the housewares/kitchen section. This is what I call the danger zone. I came for a few jars but by now my cart has about 15 items in. I have a a new complete set of dishes, a spatula  and I am contemplating a live house plant. This madness has to stop. I have to leave right that instant and I am not allowed to go in to the damages section or the Swedish food mart. 

I spend $80.

I leave feeling shame with a promise to never come back.

I make it about two months.

Repeat.