This Confused Husband Secretly Documented His Trip To IKEA With His Wife, And It’s Absolutely Hilarious

Have you ever found yourself wandering in IKEA for no apparent reason at all? If you have, then you’re not alone. No one is really safe from the dark magic of IKEA.

This guy knows this all too well, as he recently found himself at the famous furniture store with his wife without even knowing why they’re there in the first place.

Confused – and bored – the guy tried to make sense of it all by documenting his trip and posting it on the internet.

Be sure to scroll down below to read his hilarious and extremely relatable photo diary.

We are here. Our apartment is furnished. I am not sure why we are returning.

We appear to be here, in part, for lunch

I have dropped fruity purple sauce on my pants. As is tradition. It will likely stain. On Facebook, my aunt advises pouring boiling water over the spot. She further advises removing the pants before doing so.

Receiving no instruction on where to place my food mobility unit, I have left it here. I hope it will not cause inconvenience.

Perhaps we are here for institutional storage solutions. My wife says, “Maybe when we have eight kids.” We have zero kids. We move on.

We are looking at candles. We have many candles. We bought our current candles at IKEA. These are slightly different.

She has asked for my thoughts on this storage solution. I said, ‘We don’t have room for it.’ This was apparently an incorrect response.

We seem to be here for a mirror. I begin to recall a conversation where she expressed this need.

This is not a mirror. Our ultimate purpose remains as mysterious as the little dots over the vowels in the item labels.

My wife is charmed by the stuffed rats. This does not alarm or surprise me, although I am surprised that the rats feature so prominently in the display. It is a strange marketing choice.

More rats. I begin to speculate they are somehow significant in Swedish culture.

She has commented on how sturdy these spoons are. Our other measuring spoons do not strike me as structurally unsound.

“*This* is where you get napkins,” she asserts. I have to agree that, on evidence, she is right.

“Ready?” she asks. I say yes, but I’m not sure what she is referring to.

“This would be really pretty,” says my wife. I express hesitance to hang a picture of a random woman on my wall. She was talking about the picture frame. I am on thin ice.

We live in a basement. I fear for the lives of any plants we procure.

“What is this, even?” my wife asks. The label holds no answers.

I’ve been busted.

We are checking out. We have a microwave cover, a sugar bowl, and a drawer divider. We do not have a mirror. “I want ice cream,” says my wife.

“I love you forever, even though I already have to,” says my wife. I love her, too.


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