Oh shit.
I thought we were making progress, you know? We've emptied A LOT of boxes. I've got the kitchen 95% sorted. Found my hair dryer. And my underwear. Made a dent in getting the bathroom organized. Hung a shower curtain.
And then they delivered the IKEA stuff.
Five Hundred And Thirty Eight Kilos of it. That's over TWELVE HUNDRED POUNDS.
The sofa is in a box on its side on the floor of the living room. The closets (which even in the boxes look MASSIVE) are in the middle of my future (very far future it feels, now) dressing room, like Mount Olympus has landed there and I have to climb it to get to the other side. The poor transport guys were sweating BULLETS by the end of it all, I tipped them 200 nok and told them to have beers after work.
I look at it lying there, benign, in brown cardboard boxes. Those quiet brown boxes mean at least one screaming match between Rich and I (Ikea construction always makes for fights, running joke in Scandinavia is divorce cause by Ikea), minimum one smashed finger, two sore backs, one very cranky husband and one wife who just wants to run away.
I just want to run away!!!!!!
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