With This Ikea Trip I Thee Cohabitate
Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of Ikea to join together this significant other and this significant other in domesticity, symbolized by the union of Hemnes and Knutstorp, and therefore is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of never leaving Ikea. Into this windowless store these two persons present come to procure gender neutral bedding. If any man in this parking lot can show just cause, why prison-cell-modern and paisley-bohemian decor may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever shop at Target.
Wilt thou shop through the aisles of Ikea, to give of the stub pencil and pamphlet generously and freely, never straying into model bedroom obviously designed for the middle aged and sexually frustrated? Wilt thou forsake the temptation of the meatball, moving quickly to the basement? Wilt thou speak soothingly and without complaint, never claiming to be trapped in a labyrinth nor suffering from a vitamin D deficiency?
Wilt thou shop through the aisles of Ikea, to push the cart forward, never showing mercy to those who cross your path, even near the wild children of Småland? Wilt thou take these obligations freely and without resentment, bolstering them with a trail mix break in the rug section? Wilt thou swear to discuss no more than two pillow shams and to accept a Smorball bedspread the color of a Band Aid?
I take thee to Ikea, to furnish our home from this day forward, for armchairs for cheese graters, for when your mom visits, for the stains I made, in sickness and in health, to mutually agree upon the swiftest checkout line.
I take thee to Ikea, to furnish our home from this day forward, for succulents and the immediately broken, for what you saw on Pinterest, for my pile at the foot of the bed, in sickness and in health, to purchase furniture whose assembly will test the depths of our love.
With this blue bag I thee cohabitate, and with my horde of cotton balls, my dead grandmother’s favorite tea kettle and my “Pulp Fiction” VHS I thee endow: In the name of Ikea.
Let us shop.