Not too long ago I spent the evening with a man who lived in Springwood. I spent the night in Springwood as the gentleman was young, of Irish extraction, had limited insight into the distances involved, and was therefore agreeable to driving me home. A courtesy I was not willing to extend to him.
For those of you not familiar with the greater Brisbane area, Springwood is South. So far South that in my snobbier moods I have referred to it as the 'Deep South'. It is so far South that it is not actually a part of Brisbane at all. For many years the only redeeming feature of Springwood was that it hosted Brisbane's one and only Ikea**. And for many years I have had a habit of going to Ikea whenever I happen to be hungover on the Southside.
As we began the long journey home, I commented to the gent that I felt like going to Ikea. He looked at me askance and dared to ask why. I explained to him my partiality towards Solutions for Modern Living, Sweedish Meatballs and their siren call to my hungover psyche. He looked at me blankly. He didn't understand.
I remember watching an episode of Love My Way, where a couple were shopping at Ikea and the female was incredibly hungover. I remember her sentiments being something along the lines of "If I can just sort out my storage, then everything will be okay". I could identify with that.
Easing your pain with meatballs only to be left feeling vaguely nauseous, sitting on 'Display Only' couches for ten minutes before being able to rise again, and buying more novelty ice cube trays than any one person needs. This is what Ikea is all about. That and three pairs of scissors for $3 and an impressive range of psychadellic prints.
However, Ikea is not about meeting men. Despite ones ability to amuse them with witty, albeit hungover, repartee, it is generally not okay to flirt with them as they are usually accompanied by a heavily pregnant partner. Or, as I sadly discovered on my latest Ikea trip, their incredibly cute male partner. I cannot begin to tell you how devastating it was to see the best looking men in Ikea measuring up a bed together.
On a recent Ikea trip the lovely Lulu imparted the following wisdom:
Anne, never let a man near your Tupperware. They don't understand.
I think the same may apply to Ikea itself. Perhaps men are useful when discussing dimensions and construction and when removing large flat-packs from the self-service area. But can they ever really share the passion for nesting and home organisation that seems to grip the female of the species? And still want to have sex with the female of the species??
**Ikea has recently left Springwood, leaving a gaping whole in their vibrant home-making district.
