Ikea means "bad in bed"

Thanks to a friend with a car, I made my first visit to the Stoughton branch of Ikea on Monday afternoon and began the long process of furnishing my new apartment. For less than $100, I got six dinner plates, four desert plates, four salad bowls, a 40-piece set of flatware, four champagne glasses, four coffee mugs, six Tupperware-type food containers, and a toilet brush. (No, Mom, I’m not taking my old one with me. Call me extravagant.) And I resisted the temptation to buy everything in safe urban colors (white, gray, and black). Finding a bed was more problematic. Too many had the stink of “my first apartment” about them. One had a giant piece of shredded wheat for a headboard, and I worried that if I ate crackers within 50 feet of it, crumbs would lodge in the “handcrafted crazy weaving” and spell out WELCOME, VERMIN. Others looked quite suitable for overnight guests, at least if you’re in the habit of telling your bed partners, “Yes, I know you’ve had a terrible shock, but you’ll be fine once the sedative kicks in. Just keep looking at the ceiling and count backward from 100.” Of course, there is also the “Why do I need to sleep with anyone when I can store so much porn underneath my mattress?” model. Ikea has a lot to offer in terms of kitchenware and tasty desserts like this, but I'm not sure it can meet my nocturnal needs.