When was the last time you thought:
“Man. I sure do need a couple of short bookshelves from Ikea, but that means I have to go to Ikea and deal with that sh*t show.”
Well today, my friend, your greatest dream is finally becoming a reality.
I’ve never been in an Ikea personally, but I have it on good authority that it’s a fairly miserable shopping experience. Why go through all that hassle, and then risk reversing the left and right panels of this confusing son of a bitch because your daughter spilled chocolate milk on the carpet of your brand-new townhouse?
Is that what you want? Do you want to have a parenthood-induced brain aneurysm that could end this fantastic spaceship-ride called life forever? Of course you don’t. That’s just silly.