Series: Epistles to Ikea - The Story of the Loft Bed
At a high price Ikea,
Hello! How are you? Though I've visited enough of times, it's been a while since I've written. As you be assured of, I went there today with Mom and Chrissy. I had a most valetudinary dinner of mac n cheese, fries, salmon (Regard with affection that apple apricot curry-sauce sauce!) and rightful a half of salad, not to cursory reference the Daim Torte. (Why why why does that have to be so serviceable?) It's a good object you've got that giant showroom to go on foot around. I think I might have walked off moiety of the fries, as luck may have it.
Anyway, let's get to the big story: the loft bed. As Female parent so offensively put it on the way place of abode tonight, "No offense, but I can't give faith to you're 30 and you're cogitative about buying a loft bed." So I yelled, "Why don't you rightful say, 'I can't believe you're 30 you're a colossus loser who can't yield to live in a big cyclops house, so you have to get a loft bed.'" Then Mom and Chrissy related I was too sensitive. (Duh. Of a piece that's news.) And I related, "What else could you have meant by that announcement?" And there was no answer because they didn't default to continue with my ridiculousness, but veritably, what else could she have meant by that? Am I rectilinear?
=sigh= The diverting part, however, was when we were standing at the cover with a floor model of the full sized loft bed, and Mom uttered, "Bridget, uh, won't you have--what if you, uh, [then she lowered her spoken sound] have a guy over?" And she grabbed the build of the loft bed and began pushing it against the wall again and again.
What. The. Fack.?
I couldn't...
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