Welcome IKEA!

The golden pendulum of our grandfather clock has hardly finished chiming 9 p.m. and I'm snuggled in my pajamas, crawling into bed. My parents are shocked. It's awfully early for me to call it a night. But I have big plans tomorrow. IKEA’s opening.

There is something fantastic about that big blue box, something so amazing about that Swedish store that lures people in and transforms them into fanatics. I know; I’m one of those people – and all I did was PR for them! It’s more than a furniture store; it’s fun within a building that sells you – ridiculously inexpensively – absolutely anything you could ever need for your home. They make shopping a desirable experience. And they bring you attainable products by cutting corners without cutting quality – by flat packing all their goods to save on shipping and storage, therefore saving you money as well. It’s a great idea.

And I’m not the only one to think so. My mother and I watched the news to discover to her shock – though I completely expected it – that there will be over 30,000 people the tomorrow. Stoughton is practically in a state of emergency anticipating the pilgrimage; strict rules are being enforced, officers from all over are being imported to help with security and traffic flow, roads are being closed down, rerouted, freshly opened. People are even camping out in the parking lot as we speak, waiting for the doors to open.

“Who the hell camps out in this weather for a stupid furniture store?”

“See Mom,” I replied, turning the volume up, “that’s where you’re problem is. You’ll never understand if you continue to think of it as just a furniture store.”

Now I’ll slip off to sleep… passing the night with big blue & yellow dreams. Up and early and out, off on my own pilgrimage to IKEA.