Ikea, thou art a cruel mistress.

Every good holiday deserves a trip to Ikea.   This year, like last year, Mike and I decided to host Thanksgiving.  In years past, I would often go to friend's homes instead, only to find a fancy meal, a hodge-podge of people I didn't know all gussied up in their Sunday best, and no football.  Sacrilege!  Thanksgiving is for gravy! Thanksgiving is for sweatshirts and elastic waistbands! Thanksgiving is for the Detroit Lions!!!!

So, Mike and I decided to set things right in the world.  We hosted a Thanksgiving that would make our pilgrim forefathers proud.  This, of course, meant a trip to Ikea.  

We set off on a brisk Saturday afternoon.  Freezing, by New York standards, but we nonetheless decided to take the water taxi over from the Seaport.  It was a nice ride, kind of choppy but the cabin was warm and the 4 o'clock sunset was at its peak. 

A pretty view through a DIRTY window.

Despite having just eaten our fill of pizza and coffee at a lunch counter, we felt obliged to sample the local fare (as one tends to do).  The Swedish meatballs were just as I remembered, and my belly somehow found room for a whole plate of them (well, maybe Meeks helped a little).  Mike got some crappy ice cold buffalo wrap that totally sucked balls.  I have no idea what possessed him to order that.  When in Rome, Michael, when in Rome...

I do believe I'll pass on the vomitorium today, Giles.

So, early dinner ended up being the best part of the trip.  Because, after that, the shopping began.  Personally, I'm a big fan of spending money on fun kitchen and home decorating items.  Meeks....not so much.  To be perfectly honest, he kind of shuts down...emotionally.  Stops talking.  Rubs his beard.  Spends too much time staring at his phone.

Shutting down in 5...4...3...

Long story short, we ended up being there for about 4 hours.  That's pretty much 4 hours of me mulling over serving platters and table cloths, picking out curtains and putting them back, and then a long discussion with myself about decorations.  Finally, we ventured back onto the B61 bus and headed home, exhausted, mildly triumphant and yet somehow feeling defeated.  With a serving platter in hand but sans a gravy boat.

Then I got carsick from the bus.

Ahh....Ikea!