Swedish Sunday

Missy woke me up at 9 a.m. to let me know that she was going to pick me up in 45 minutes and drive me to Ikea's annual sale. She was eager to arrive just as the doors open at 10 o'clock. Why did I agree to share a Swedish Sunday with her at such an early hour?

Because I wanted to get the best deal on a three-foot-long crocodile that will be the gift for a photographer's third child. I should probably include a pack of contraceptives for the father as well.

Big toys need little friends. On sale for 25 cents, this stuffed octopus was tangled in the care label attached to it.

Missy and I made it out of Ikea in two hours. I thought that was rather long but Missy said it was an average performance. Darting through the showrooms and up and down the aisles, digging through crates for duvet covers and waiting for my butcher block kit to arrive at the furniture pick-up got us hungry. So we both ate eggs benedict with smoked salmon at Home near my house. Swedes like salmon, ja?

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