... and this is why today's post is a poor, sorry 'my soul is bruised' paragraph. You don't need me to draw you a picture, do you? I'm sure we've all been to the giant yellow and blue death star. Apart from anything else I have knitted myself some selective amnesia regarding today's trip, and am choosing only to remember the giant plush woodlouse.
Pochyemu emailed me her reassurance:
"Ikea is where happiness comes to die. They should just hand out divorce papers at the entrance and have a solicitor at the exit, so you can fill out the forms on the way through. Like, do one section at the bedding, the bigger sections at the tables... I always thought it was a bad idea to put the kitchen knives towards the end because, hello, homicide much??"
And this is why you should just go and visit her today. Because she has custody of the funny. And my keyboard is being repeatedly jogged by the CFO's attempts to kill a giant squid headed evil nemesis type figure.
(The CFO was clearly in need of a manly day today - strange, it's not as if I've been exposing him to much fucking embroidery, or even cooking though we did watch an impressively sinister "Star Academy", with James Blunt and his creepy operatic double "Josh Groban", whoever he is, perving on the lovely French laydeez. He's a ghastly looking creature, look:
Please tell me he's not famous. Or successful. He made my skin crawl, which is quite a feat. I have watched several seasons of Star Academy, including multiple appearances by Roch Voisine, Michel Sardou and repugnant goateed goblin Florent Pagny. I am made of extremely stern stuff. This guy was sinister, I promise you.
Anyway. He spent today wielding power tools to build Lashes' new bed. He's topping this off with an evening killing zombies (the CFO, not Josh Groban. He probably spent the day alternating between playing the geetar at evangelical prayer meetings and torturing puppies). It is quite hard to concentrate on complaining about him with the noise of multiple homicide and accompaniying commentary from the other side of the sofa of evil. "Shakass! Il est ou mon bazooka!")
The only funny thing about Ikea, and the subsequent CFO bricolage-fest is the swearing. He makes up anglo-saxon curses. I don't know why. He swears plenty in French. He knows English swear words. Yet when he does DIY, these strange words come out of his cantakerous little form. Previous favourites were:
These have now been joined by "jeesuzeman". I am getting quite irritated with "jeesuzeman". "Jeesuzeman" greets me at every turn today, from excessive St Nicolas confectionery, to unpaid bills to poor parking on my part, to the Ikea service desk. Can anyone suggest an alternative for him?
Meanwhile, over in "my children continue to vampirise my soul, but sometimes give me cheap laughs" corner, the outfit of the day was much in evidence, only being removed for bed. It definitely turned heads in Ikea.
The other one was just unremittingly objectionable. Lying in wait to catch St Nicolas to apologise for the lack of beer all night will do that to a child.
Tomorrow I might make a Belgian advent calendar based on the disturbing genius suggestion of Vanessa on the last post. Might make up for the last few days whining....