Ode to IKEA...or something

Bright blue building with the happy yellow letters (like kryptonite those letters are).  You greet me with your food options and free child care (am not convinced the mean child care lady doesn't eat the children). 

You are concerned for my time such that you assist me with your tape measures (constantly breaking I need 10 of them to get through one section and your wee papers and pencils which poke holes through the paper because you have nothing to put the waxy anti-pencil paper on).

I marvel at your selection of pine plywood and oak 4x4 furniture with everything placed just so.  Every section so well organized (with names I can't pronounce and no English translation...not even a sometimes y)

Your lanes (lanes which if you go the wrong way on people get all yell-y and you get stuck in a black hole you can never get out of) are stocked with everything a person could want (and things which we have no idea on earth what they possibly are, we all need a fcdshf for our sdfkldsjc).

When I get your lovely (5,000,000 metric ton) boxes home, your instructions (you need to be on acid to understand...no I can find item a,b and c when they are marked x,y and z) with the wee little man (I hate that little man, he mocks me to this day) and the useful tools (my 4 year old has better playschool tools...hate the little stabby, oweee, pinchy tools).

Thank you IKEA for (ruining my nails and shins and knees) your wonderful cheap furniture. 

p.s.  my house may or may not be 50% IKEA products...more like 75%...shameful!