This weekend I made my third trip into the suburban hell that is IKEA. I didn’t blog about my second trip because since I blogged about the first, I figured anyone seeing that I’d gone back would accuse me of being ghey. Since that’s out of the bag thanks to my seeming inability to curse on this blog, what the hell.The second trip was simply to reconnoiter. Budman wanted a bed to match the desk we’d bought there. It was notable only because I experienced what can only be described as a mini-panic attack when I ended up surrounded by brown shoppers in a corner with no way out. Couldn’t breathe there for a second.I think IKEA is Scandi for maze. Or perhaps an acronym for Insanely Komplex products Exported to Amerika. You can’t just go in and by a mattress and a headbord. You need something called a mid-beam and a bed base which is what my Momma would have called bed slats. Oh and instructions? Well, they don’t write them in Scandi. Matter of fact, no words at all:In the first image he appears to be telling you to get screwed. Best I can tell from the rest is 1 – You need a guy with a pencil behind his ear to start. 2- If the pencil guy leaves and you want to get off on the furniture you need to pork it on the rug. And finally if you can’t get off on the furniture or the instructions, you can call IKEA and they have operators standing by. Am I missing something?