Summing Up Our National Obsession

I do enjoy an Ikea trip. With a drink in hand, I will roam the guided tour aisles and sit on one of the faux furniture pieces, those little Disney-esque rooms they assemble so you can visualize their furniture in your space, if you are diminutive in size. I like to watch the couples of all ethnic persuasion peruse, some with kids, some obviously the yuppettes of the generation, picking up one of the billion knick-knacks that complete the store. And I wonder why I would furnish a whole room or a house with this cheaper European furniture.  I did, at one time, purchase a table. It had a short life.  More fun is the endless roaming, following the yellow brick road, Dorothy, until you come to warehouse alley where you get your own furniture by figuring out the magic coding system. It is such fun. After burning all those calories you have to stop off and eat a six pack of those steaming hot cinnamon buns you can smell while you wait in line for a half hour staring at the food posters, the ice  cream, the pastries and the refreshing Euro style soda pop. And all around you the clone people shopping utter phrases with accents like "ya ya" which makes you think that they are from abroad only they are not; just urbanites trying out a Scandinavian accent for fun.  And like some bad form of sobriety test, even the shopping carts are odd, all four wheels rotate freely so that you can move in any angle, swerve, spin, rotate and dance your way across the expansive stretch to where you parked your car, far, far away. Ya ya, it was a fun time had by all. Just wait until you try reading the assembly instructions! MisterWriter