I had an epiphany today.

I am destined to have a future home filled with colours, disco balls and quirky knick-knacks that might not necessarily complement each other, but will end up doing so out of my sheer force of will.

I am also destined to own an Ikea house.

Ikea, that glorious glorious place filled with furniture packed flat for convenience and encouraging generations to learn how to use a hammer, rooms filled with dream houses and interiors for anybody and everybody, cheap everything so that impulse buys will never hurt until you realise that small new shelf you bought doesn’t fit anywhere because your home is already crammed with Ikea impulse buys.

And the fooooood.

The cake.

Oh my gosh.  The meatballs.

And if I could have those in my Ikea sourced dining room before going to my Ikea decorated bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready to go to bed in my Ikea furnished bedroom… some may call this plebeian, but if getting an entire room decked out for less than $1000 but looking like it cost ten times that amount, then I embrace my plebeian-ness.

Because, as one of my friends said,  We love our bread, we love our butter, but most of all…

We love Ikea.