I'm not a prideful individual. I'll admit when I'm wrong, when I make a mistake. And today I made a mistake. I spent the morning spring cleaning and made excellent progress and, since I had the afternoon to myself, I decided to go to Ikea to get some scented candles as the final touch to my purification process. When The Swede walks in, I want the apartment to smell like The Secret Garden (the actual garden, that is, not the Marietta College Theatre Department's 2005 production, which smelled like musty set pieces and my director's cigarette smoke). So I took the train and the bus to Ikea and then made my way through a jungle of shoppers and just tried to maintain my composure. I had never seen it like this. By the time I left, barely 45 minutes later, as the leisurely stroll through paradise I had envisioned turned out to be the exact opposite, I felt like a crotchety old man and was grateful that I lived in Sweden where nobody would try to talk to me. On another note, when I got home and opened up the packaging of a cardboard storage box I purchased there were eight screws and a four-page instruction book. FOR A CARDBOARD BOX.
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