I am trying to keep busy. Busy, busy, busy. It’s a bank holiday so I got up super early, drank coffee, watched Teen Mom 2, and then took a trip to Ikea.
I want to tell you something. My ex had never been to Ikea in his life. Fascinating, isn’t it? What kind of person has never been to Ikea? Never tried to decipher the difference between a Borgstad and a Brigit bookcase? Never felt the sickening sense of panic when it becomes apparent there is no logical way to lift boxes from the warehouse into your trolley (or worse you can move them, but then get stuck halfway)? Never spent an entire weekend building, then rebuilding, a Pax wardrobe?
My ex before this one (more about him anther time) had the great pleasure of building my wardrobe with me. Tense times. Every other piece of furniture in my flat I bought and built myself. I am 5ft 1. So I feel pretty good about this. It’s something I often boast about. I like to be independent. It’s good to know I don’t need anybody else. In fact, I think it’s important.
But that isn’t the same as not wanting somebody else. And, specifically, wanting my Ikea-virgin ex.
The last time I went to Ikea was just before Christmas. I had downloaded old pictures of Hackney off a website, printed them on nice stock, and was framing them as his Christmas present. I was so excited.
Today was less fun. Although I purchased some rhubarb cordial. So things are looking up.
Pizza of Doom 
Leave a Reply