…I can’t buy a couch at Ikea.
Yes, it’s true; I am able to figure out square footage, how to lay a laminate floor, and to mark every piece for cutting without a mistake, but put me in Ikea, and I’m an idiot.
I went to buy a new couch to put in this lovely room with new flooring. I had it all picked out beforehand, I just had to go in and buy it. To make double sure, I asked a customer service rep, if they could pull up the codes for me. Yep, no problem. Off I went, down to self-serve.
There was the couch, on display, with a whole bunch of boxes underneath. Piece of cake. With the help of Tom, I load the large box onto a trolley and take it to the cashier. Hang on, “if you wait there, I can pick up the footstool and the covers too”. Tom gives me a look that acknowledges I am going to do this with or without his approval.
Off I go, and get another trolley. I carefully check all the item codes and load the pieces onto the cart. I meet up with Tom and we take both carts up to the cashier. A quick turn right and we’re at the delivery service. “Do you want it today?” they ask. “Yes.” All organized in thirty minutes. The couch will arrive that night, between 5 and 9 p.m., which it did.
At 7 p.m., Tom and I immediately ripped open the boxes and started piecing the furniture together. No problem. Next came the covers. The cushion covers looked a little small, and Tom questioned whether they would fit. “It’s Ikea”, I said, “it always fits”, so we stuffed them in real good and they fit. Our first sign that all was not well, was when we putting the cover on the frame of the couch and Tom said, “do you need some slack”?
“Nope, I’ve got about a foot of fabric here.”
“Oh, because I’ve got lots.” Ooops. What a mess.
It looked like one of those wrinkly dogs that might grow into their skin one day. The couch had no chance of that happening. We started looking at boxes, checking codes, and checking instructions. I also noticed I had two extra cushion covers. It was Saturday night, I had a cold, and apparently, I was not at my best. I had bought the wrong couch, but the right cover. I ended up with a loveseat instead of a three-seater couch. Oh my Lord.
We looked at the carnage. The poor cushions were screaming to get out of the covers which we had maliciously forced them into. There was an eight inch gap between the chushions if we put them on the wrinkly couch. Obviously, they should have been in bigger covers, but we had made them fit. Furniture brutality. We started to laugh so hard. What idiots. We had punched and shoved the cushions into the wrong covers. Tom kept saying, “we made them fit”, and the more we thought about it, the funnier it became.
I went back the next morning and traded the covers, so now I have the right cover for the wrong couch. Well, I wasn’t taking the couch back, was I, and anyway, it’s now got a funny story attached to it. Who cares if it’s not quite what I wanted. I’m pretty sure I’ll get to enjoy it for years to come.