I suspect that IKEA IS Dante's Ninth Circle of Hell

I was never really a huge fan of IKEA but I was also never really a huge hater of IKEA either; not like Mr. Lemony Lemonade. Never before and hopefully never again will there be someone who hates IKEA as viscerally as Mr. Lemony Lemonade. Secretly, or not so secretly, he is convinced that IKEA is really just a thinly veiled Scandinavian conspiracy to drive middle class furniture purchasers into bankruptcy as a result of ill-advised purchases of pseudo-funky, overpriced furniture with names like EKTORP and VERUKA.

Inevitably, any Lemony Lemonade family trip to IKEA involves the following phases:

Step 1: Mr. Lemony Lemonade agrees to go to IKEA to pick up (ahem) much needed piece of modular furniture
Step 2: Enter IKEA after utilising "family friendly" parking spot for families with children
Step 3: Mr. Lemony Lemonade manages to casually browse through two or three fake living space montages
Step 4: Mr. Lemony Lemonade visibly stiffens and begins to mutter about the location of "the bloody shortcuts"
Step 5: Mr. Lemony Lemonade nods to any suggestion made to him and begins walking double quick toward the cash
Step 6: Mr. LL enters the "marketplace" and descends into full-blown IKEA induced hysteria, searching frantically for ways to avoid the bedding section (my favourite)
Step 7: Mr. LL wears visible scowl and starts to use four letter expletives, cursing everything from IKEA's diabolical marketing campaigns (bins of ice cube trays for $2) to IKEA's wafting of cinnamon bun scent throughout the store
Step 8: Mr. LL begins to bleat plaintively in an octave that is only audible to canines and (unfortunately) me
Step 9: Mr. LL waits in epic cash-out line-up developing eye twitch. Visibly tears up when required to pony up hundreds of hard-earned dollars to pay for aforementioned (shite) modular furniture
Step 10: I am forced to assist Mr. LL from the shop as he is rendered catatonic by all things IKEA
Step 11: Mr. LL recovers from IKEA visit and swears off all and any future visits while attempting to assemble enormous wall unit with nothing but an allen key and what remains of his sanity

Much to Mr. Lemony Lemonade's chagrin, since moving to Hong Kong, we have discovered that our North American furniture is, well, obese and as such, just won't fit into our anorexic flat. So upon our arrival, the Herculean task of finding appropriate, functional and reasonably priced furniture began. Oh, and let's keep in mind that Mr. Lemony Lemonade's ulcer from the last round of furniture purchases in 2004/2005 has only recently healed. I thought that being in China, the birthplace of most of the world's cheaply made and mass produced products would mean that we would be able to furnish our flat from top to bottom for about $15. Apparently, however, this is not the case. Additionally, I also believed that being in China and more specifically, Hong Kong would mean that we would be spoilt for choice and that when we couldn't find something, we could have it made for peanuts. Again, not so. Instead, everyone and I mean everyone told me, when asked for recommendations for where to buy furniture, "go to IKEA of course." So, I basically travelled halfway around the world to an incredibly exotic locale only to have my flat outfitted in pre-fab Scandinavian plywood shite furniture that can be found in any country or college dorm throughout the world.

All of this would be fine if I could go to IKEA calmly and without duress and make my selections of said crapacious furniture in peace and quiet. Unfortunately, I have been going to IKEA with Baby Girl ALONE and Baby Girl appears to have inherited the "I GO CRAZY IN IKEA" gene from Mr. Lemony Lemonade. On a normal day, I can usually depend upon 10 to 20 minutes of cooperative behaviour and a further 10 to 20 minutes of uncooperative behaviour coerced or bribed out of Baby Girl with something like the promise of "Old MacDonalds" or cold hard cash. IKEA though, brings out the very best in Baby Girl including screaming at the top of her lungs, throwing things, running into people at top speed, hiding, attempting to kill herself and other fun and exciting toddler undertakings. I know this because I have now spent a ridiculous amount of time in IKEA with a three year old who is clearly suffering from some sort of furniture store mania. Over the past few weeks, I have simultaneously attempted to juggle light fixtures and bath mats while chasing Baby Girl through the sofa maze. All of this is accomplished while Baby Girl is running around as if on fire while wrapped in a gauze net ripped from a princess bed in the children's section, evading store staff frantic to stop her un-Scandinavian like rampage. I can't even see the IKEA catalogue anymore without breaking into a sweat.

Today's trip demonstrated that even armed with two additional adults, Baby Girl's IKEA mania is still unmanageable as she quite handily brought the entire bedroom storage section to a standstill in order to orchestrate a film short shot by Oldest Uncle (a.k.a. Middle Brother) with my cell phone. Poor Oldest Uncle was only attempting to placate the three year old beast in order that I be able to make a single, solitary decision without collapsing into the fetal position and begging for a bottle of Vicadin. I of course was forced, as always, to leave the bleeding store with only a fraction of my shopping list accomplished. Currently, all three adults (myself included) are sitting catatonic in front of a television silently wondering if any amount of alcohol and/or medication will erase the horror of Baby Girl at IKEA.