Incident At IKEA

Such a blissful Saturday when your spouse announces upon your good self that on a Jewish Sabbath morn, she will evacuate the homestead with her female progeny in tow towards IKEA.

Much internal hand-rubbing did I indulge upon. Many poorly conceived impossibilities did I imagine in the naive moments before reality clicked quickly into gear. I wasn't overly despondent at the thought of marshaling the remaining male issue. Moreover, I was relishing the concept of a Boys' Day In.

This rapidly dissolved, like.

Next installment to follow, like.
 
Can't be arsed continuing in the same style as I am not pished anymore.

Cut a long story short, the missus got into a row at IKEA with some cheeky bastard in the queue who was showing off in front of his burd.

The missus won. The patrons of IKEA laughed. The cheeky bastard took a red face and shut the fuck right up.
 
Potter did I, potter to the max.

The 3 year old had bounced himself out on the trampoline by noon.

The 10 year old was palpably sniffing around pubescence.

Something had to give.
 
I will divert from my narrative for the moment to confirm to the Northern English that IKEA sells all sorts of mental foods.

It was their 21st Anniversary today. They were selling all manner of mental hotdogs, burgers, gravy chips and the like for 21p.

21 fucking P like.
 
Back
Top