Today, while Patrick was at work, slaving away (!), I slept in, moved slowly, and at around 2:30, managed to cart my ass to Ikea.
We just got rid of our old junky dresser last week. It's been in our closet for awhile, holding mostly our underwear and some of my pants. Patrick's pants are kept elsewhere, and one of the drawers was broken, so because the broken drawer was pulled out and kept on top as sort of a bin (collector of receipts and spare change, apparently), invariably my pants would come out of the other drawer, below the one we pulled out, wrinkled and full of cat hair. Are you picturing my busted dresser? Anyway, we finally got sick and tired of the goddamn cheap ass broken dresser, so while perusing the Ikea catalog sometime during the last week, I came upon Antonious. It's not pretty, but it was cheap, and since it's sort of tucked away in the closet, looks don't really matter. Also, the one I bought is a bit different than what you see here: mine has the clear plastic bins, for example, and the worktop I bought is their fake wood veneer instead of plain white. I've had that plain white before, and that crap doesn't clean up very well.
By the way, I know it's Saturday, but Ikea was packed tight. There were a ton of people there. I've been finding myself annoyed with people. Maybe I'm getting old, but people are rude. They were bumping into me with their strollers, their shopping carts. Kids were blocking aisles with parents standing idly by. Not one person said "excuse me." I didn't want to push a shopping cart through the whole store, so I was armed only with my big yellow bag, which wasn't big enough for Antonius's worktop and bins, so I had to muscle it all down one more flight of stairs. I was actually pretty proud of myself - I realized that I forgot to add, to my list of things I "can't do," that I can't walk downstairs without holding either someone's hand or the rail. I don't think I've ever actually fallen downstairs (except for that one time at fifth grade graduation, in front of the whole graduating classes of fifth and sixth graders, their friends and families, and the teachers. Oh, yeah, there was that one time), but I have a lot of fears of going downstairs. And there I was, with both hands full, and a big old bag on my shoulder, in flip flops for god's sake, cruising. Oh, and I don't have much "muscle."
So I got home, and banged that thing together (literally), and it now stands in our closet, kinda homely, but it works.
