With moving come inevitable trips to home decorating meccas, such as Home Depot, Lowe's, Target, and, my favoritest of them all, The Big Swedish One.
Friday, I was not in the mood. Premenstrual, if you must know, and pissy. I made myself go to Target (and then to Home Depot, as it's only one block away) to buy felt for the bottom of the IKEA shelf I was assembling. Of course, I had a Target list that was just about as long as my arm, so I returned to the house after a few hours with a full trunk. I assembled the shelf, and then decided to hang a curtain. Putting up the curtain rod was a struggle. It took a lot of time and elbow grease and silent pep talks, but finally FINALLY the two holder thingies were up.
The first thing I realized was that the window was so close to a corner of the room that the fancy, swirly finial would have to be removed.
The second thing I realized was that the extendable rod I'd purchased was actually too short for that window.
The third thing I realized was that there was no alcohol in the house.*
And now for the Friday night dining experience:
The Plan: IKEA for Swedish meatballs and kitchen shopping and browsing of many wonderful things.
The Problem: Not prepared for the restaurant to close at the exact time we exited the freeway.
The Consequences: The worst trip to IKEA ever in manner of hungry, complaining, deeply dissappointed meatball-lovers. Kitchens were unappealing, as were many wonderful things. Wrinkles on foreheads became deeper and more pronounced, and hair may have turned gray.
The Botched Solution: Carl's Jr./Green Burrito. As I look at the menu, I realize that this is that place with the six-dollar-burgers that I never eat at because their commercials are so hair-raisingly sexist and offensive. I rationally declare that we have to have Green Burrito food (as surely, though they are under the same roof, with the same people and kitchen, they don't belong to the same company, right? Right???). D. orders a Taco Salad, which I've never had before, but know I don't like because I've read recipies for it online. I've told D. that I was going to make taco salad for dinner (he requested it), but I couldn't bring myself to do it because the recipies sounded gross. In the 3 seconds of hesitation in which I try to decided between the different burritos, he orders me a taco salad. Never have the words "Make that two of those." had such horrific implications. AND I was too stunned and hungry to speak up right away.
How It Got Worse: I valiantly decide not to complain anymore (after having just spent an hour at IKEA doing just that). We pull over into the parking lot and start eating. There is chicken on my salad, which could be good if I liked warm things on my salad, which I don't. Still, I don't say anything. But then... I get towards the bottom of my bowl. I innocently (and hungryly) shovel another forkful of salad into my mouth, when I notice that there are beans BEANS, REFRIED BEANS in that salad.
The Aftermath: Suffice it to say that I have been muttering "beans in salad" under my breath for a couple of days now. I may even shudder a little when I say it.
*this is just a joke