IKEA Slovensko

Sarp is in Istanbul, for the next few weeks. I have the flat to myself. I've been showering with the door open and playing ridiculous music at high volume.

Feeling oddly enabled I made the journey to Ikea yesterday. No one told me that the bus ride to our favourite Swedish superstore doubled as the hot-mom express. My arrival confirmed that indeed, I had arrived at a veritable MILF Mecca. I enjoyed my trip to the store. I made a few purchases. Small, yet necessary. Ones that will contribute much needed value to my life around the house. Especially over time. A period from now, life without them will become unfathomable. I bought a french press, garbage can and pillow. If I stoked your curiousity.

The arrows on the floor helped me feel my way through the labyrinth of value pricing. It was immediately apparent that the cheap food wasn't saved just for the Ottawa location. 30 cent hot dogs tempted me. I use the word tempt very generously, in this instance. A few differences did jump out, however. That's why the trip was so funny. It was a hilarious twist on something I was familiar with. The employee section of the parking lot had barbed wire fences around it and STOCKHOLM brand beer was available in a combo with the aforementioned offal tubes.

This morning I ran to the local "Billa" grocery store to get a few essentials. Sunflower oil, milk and butter. If you must know. The cashier I picked was an old lady. Usually a terrible choice. She moved quick, a lot faster than the sluggish pace I had come to expect from her demographic of item scanners. She tried to talk to me. I held my own. She smiled; I was surprised.