As many of you are aware, Mister H is away for ten days overseas and I’m playing single mummy for the duration.
I’ve called reinforcements in the form a couple of stunt husbands who are doing tag teams.
My first StuntHub arrived with Lime Pannacotta and Tuille (Who the hell makes tuille? Obviously, my stunt husband is gay) and a couple of bottles of vino collapso, and I bought some bubbly to celebrate life, because life ought to be celebrated, no?
I admit freely to being a Cadburys Alcoholic (a glass and a half every day) but I rarely have more than two glasses……there is no need to divulge exactly how much was consumed but I must confess to being a tad surprised and a little impressed (and supremely dusty) as I carried the debrit (read: evidence) to the recycle bin the following morning at dawn’s crack…..because children care not for the over hung and love to wake the crusty.
StuntHub and I had set a date to hit Ikea in the morning, as I needed another bed to sleep my second Stunt Hub, Aunty Prusty. That’s not her real name, but D Man couldn’t say Krusty, which incidentally is also not her real name, but it stuck.
A Nurofen, a plate of pancakes, and a coffee the size of my head later, I was ready to worship the Norse god of affordable homewares.
Have you ever been to Ikea on the weekend?
Ooooof….Don’t do it.
With Kiki in the sling, and D Man holding my hand, the StuntHub and I plunged into the sea of people, shuffling around the grey path with their stubby little pencils, looking at storage solutions they never knew they needed.
In Ikea every man is created equal. Whether you’re a muscular, tattooed couple with kids sporting mullets, or aging lesbians with pale purple hair, once your trolley is laden with flat packs you’ve signed on for the Ikea Olympics. You’re ducking and weaving and racing your way to the finish line, stuffing packets of napkins and meatballs under your arms as you go.
D Man was perky all morning, but shortly after diving into the tidal mass, he began to eye off the furniture, and not in a Interior-Design-Prodigy kind of way.
I’d turn my back for a moment and he’d be laying down on a couch, a bed or a pile of rugs.
This was when I realised that perhaps he didn’t feel very well.
If I was ever going to win Mother of the Year, this would be where I would have turned on my heel and gone home, but once you’re on the pathway, following the little arrows projected onto the floor, there is NO GOING BACK…..you cannot swim upstream, even if you’re clutching a salmon coloured pillow.
We fought our way around as I fought the squeezing sensation somewhere deep behind my eyeballs, loading up our flatbed trolley in a warehouse full of marital issues waiting to happen. They say a couple that can assemble Ikea together is a couple for life.
A turned back and the blink of an eye later, your worst Ikea nightmare happened…..D Man was gone.
He wasn’t in Aisle 7, nor Aisle 8, nor Aisle 6.
Shit. This was going to look very bad when Mister H came home.
‘We don’t have D Man anymore, darling, but we have a new bed!’
I started to call his name, a little cranky he’d wandered off. I walked in one direction, no D Man. I walked in the other, no D Man.
So, I really started to call his name, no longer cranky but with that sickening rising panic that tasted like bile……I was the crazy lady with messy hair and terror in her eyes, stale old wine breath and baby on her hip, screaming for her lost kid in a crowded shop.
It’s funny how you never really think ‘they’re probably hiding’, you always automatically think they’ve been abducted, by some Ikea predator.
People just looked at me. Not one person offered to help.
I would have helped.
No matter how crazy the lady looked.
My heart rate was going through the roof and I started looking for a staff member to help and then StuntHub walked into my line of vision about 20 metres away, holding a pale D Man in his arms.
He’d been lying down.
On top of some flat packs.
It was time to pay for those napkins in my armpit and take this lad home.
I discovered two things on that fateful day.
Never go to Ikea on a Sunday morning with a hangover, and you don’t need a husband if you have an Allen key.
Like Kiki’s new bed?
Hooking up with the lovely EssentiallyJess, for IBOT.