porn for the suburban wife

Happiness is 20 minutes with the IKEA catalogue

The IKEA catalogue came to my house today. Short, square and gorgeous — I’m going to ogle those Ektorps and lap up Lack’s smart storage solutions. I’m going to read that glossy little badboy cover to cover and it’s going to be the best 20 minutes of my week.

Sorry hubs, this week you’ve got competition.

Phew, now that I’ve gotten that little shop-aholic orgasm out of the way let’s bask for a moment in the glory of IKEA, shall we? In one way it’s SO good. It lets this po’ suburban housewife feel just a little bit edgier. It transforms my cookie-cutter 1980s-tudor-revival space into something out of a minimalist dreamscape. White, sleek and oh, so pleasing to the eye — it’s so, so good.

But it’s easy to forget that you’re here for a good time, not a long time, IKEA furnishings. Not many of our Hemnes drawers will live to be passed down through the generations. The bottoms of the drawers will undoubtedly warp, the pine will get scratched and dented. It’s true that the veneer chipped off my black-brown Bjursta sideboard mere moments after I got it home, exposing the sawdust that lies beneath. In that sense, Ikea is undeniably very, very bad.

But let’s face it, Ikea — and I for that matter — are from the me generation. Note that it’s called I-kea, not we-kea or they-kea. Why save for expensive Ethan Allen tomorrow when I can have a house full of IKEA today? Why think of my children’s future apartments when I can think of my home now? Is it just me, or is Ikea a grand paradox? It’s both everything that’s wonderful and beautiful about today’s design-obsessed society and everything that’s ugly at it’s cheap I-must-have-it-now particleboard core.

But let’s not be sad. Let’s not cry about the instructions we are destined not to understand. No, no my friends. Let us brew ourselves another coffee and enjoy this moment, this orgy of affordable home-decor ideas that only comes to our doorsteps once a year.

Ikea. YOU complete me.

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