Ikea: Swedish for complicating relationships

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This article was published 05/08/2017 (3272 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

It’s just an Ikea bed frame, a cheap faux- mahogany structure.

But I see conflict.

My girlfriend is slick. She suggests ideas and activities that I agree to when I’m half-asleep… only to wake up by the final, “OK, this is happening and you agreed to it. So let’s go.”

Wait, what?!

She saw a bed frame posted on Craigslist for $50. The assortment of images online spoke to her. Also, it had drawers. The drawers pushed this from just a purchase to an investment in her happiness. She wants to consolidate space — in her room, but more importantly in her mind. “You’re just, like, everywhere,” she’ll say to me as she does this unique hand gesture: both hands raised at shoulders’ height, palms spread, in a quick but robotic motion.

What does it mean to be everywhere? Does she think of me as some kind of deity, my spirit or energy flapping its wings across many lands? No. She’s referring to my button-down shirt on the floor. We don’t live together, but I’m at her apartment quite often.

I’m a fan of furniture. But the bed frame still needs to be built — and building something together requires teamwork. Patience. Clearly defined goals of what is considered a solid attempt vs. what is a lacklustre, passive-aggressive display of: “I don’t want to build this damned thing at all.”

Here’s where the plans diverge. I was to build it myself. She went to a play with her cousin. Kissed me on the cheek and was gone.

I blame myself. I like to joke with my girlfriend that I’m such a stereotypical man — one who brings utility into any environment. It’s nonsense, though. I’m really not. I am not handy in the slightest.

From the beginning, I found the frame suspect. I was able to build the base of it. But that wasn’t without stubbing my toe more than once. My shins take beatings as well. The drawers didn’t line up. I then questioned why the owner was unloading this for only $50 and required that it be picked up the same day. Was he a man who, when reached out to again, could never be found? Whose name may not actually be his name?

For comfort, I took a break to sip whiskey with my girlfriend’s friend on his porch across the street. The whiskey’s warmth eased its way down my throat, a distraction from the fact that Swedes are messing with my life. Ideally, I would put the thing together quickly, dust off my hands and be out. But it wasn’t that simple. This was a project for two, and time was running out.

When my girlfriend gets home, I’m still across the street. Drunk. The bed frame is 60 per cent done. The other 40 per cent is for us to tackle together.

“Are you sure that’s the way to tighten it?” she asks, exasperated. “Well, it’s not tightening.”

“Yes, righty-tighty, lefty-loosey,” I say, praying that this rule still applies to discounted Swedish craftsmanship.

“It’s OK. Building Ikea furniture is clearly just not your thing,” she says.

Part humour, part-her fist hitting my chest. Such little jabs! They add up.

“I feel like you’re just mad at me,” she adds. “You know what? Maybe you should just go downstairs and let me try to finish this,” she says.

Had it not been for the intervention of her roommate, we might never have finished. The bed is wobbly. It’s also way too tall. She would have to climb into it. Also, her sleeping pattern would need to be altered. Otherwise, she’d hit her head on the shelf that was above. The room isn’t big enough for the drawers to pull out on both sides. Why didn’t she measure the room first?

It was a poor decision on my part to even ask that question. Her response was along the lines of: if you didn’t leave your dirty clothes on the floor, I wouldn’t need this.

I knew this was a thing — that Ikea could cause relationship strife. There are articles explaining the phenomenon. Liz Lemon couldn’t escape it on 30 Rock. Artist Jeff Wysaski even built a “Relationship Saving Station” at an Ikea in Burbank, Calif.

She made a comment about how I persevere in so many other tasks in my life but when it had come to this bed frame, I’d clocked out. It hurt, but it was true. Her cousin, her original accomplice, helped her finish putting the bed together. It’s done but still wobbly. Cellphones fall between the cracks and have to be fished out with a hanger or this thin piece of wood she uses. Two out of the four drawers remain in her living room because the bedroom isn’t big enough.

I love this woman dearly. So I pick my clothes up off the floor. If we’re to be a team, I can’t avoid situations just because I foresee conflict. We’re stronger than some ridiculous bed frame.

— Washington Post