Buying Furniture

I went to IKEA with my girlfriend and we spent over $500. We didn't mean to. It just sort of happened. We exercised restraint. Several times I put things in the cart and then returned them to the shelf, because... Do we really need a stainless steel pots-and-pans organizer with a hanging spice-rack and hooks for whisks and spatulas over my stove?

No. We don't.

We bought a bed frame, which... we needed. I mean, we're adults and we can't very well keep the mattress on the floor, can we? I mean, we're not peasants. Lay down with dogs, rise.....

We bought a sleeper sofa (glorified futon), because, when friends and family come to visit, we can't make them head-to-toe it on the couch... can we?

And, we bought a medicine cabinet, because the previous tenants unbolted theirs from the bathroom wall and took it with them. (We will be doing the same.)

Now I can't break up with my girlfriend, because we own furniture together. That's how we commit to relationships. We share investment in material possessions. Not to mention the fact that all this furniture we are gathering has been hauled up four flights of stairs. That would have to be one hell of a fight to warrant lugging it all the way back down.

Now, I wasn't thinking about breaking up with her. I'm in love with her. But, I must admit, the ephemeral nature of our union was more romantic than this tangible wood and metal construction project named after blond children.

It's all very appropriate. My name is Sven, and her's is Stefka. We actually sound like we're related to the furniture we bought, cut from the pine forest dream in the "Land of the Midnight Sun".

We're not getting a fucking cat.... yet.