Waffle's Big Finale

Newsletter 2019-04-08

My wife recently talked me into going to the IKEA store. And by “talked me into,” I mean she said, “We're going to IKEA,” and I said, “Okay.” I know how marriage works.

There is no place on Earth I want to go less than IKEA. That’s not entirely true. I could end up in a war zone or inside an active volcano. But outside of places that could potentially make me explode or melt me with lava, IKEA is the next worst thing. Then again, letting my wife go to IKEA on her own is also dangerous. The last time she did that, she came back with six hundred pounds of unassembled furniture that I had to lug up to the third floor of our house. I destroyed my legs and back carrying the finest particle board Sweden has to offer. I have no idea how the particle board tree hasn’t gone extinct yet.

I figured if I had to go to IKEA with Lola, at least I could stop her from buying as much stuff as last time. If nothing else, I would take up physical space in the van, and that would leave her with less room to…