They'll Think of That

Reading week started today. I'm sitting in the library on campus, hanging out while Katey writes a paper for her online course.

The paper has to be four pages, single spaced.

That's three and a half longer than most of the paper I've had to write so far this semester.

And I'm the one doing an English degree.


(Why doesn't that girl at the next table understand what a no cellphone zone means?

I should have tipped that maître d' better)


I lost my keys this morning; at least I couldn't find them. Katey and I searched and searched, which also means didn't speak because both of us would have got angry over the missing keys.

I wish Ikea could come up with some sort of key-storage-device that I could use. Then they could use us in their line of commercials that have been focusing on spousal abuse.

You've likely seen them. There's one that has a family quietly watching television while the narrator, Fraser Crane's brother, tells us how the evening would have gone horribly wrong had the family not have invested in Ikea furniture. There's another one where a husband and wife avoid a battle because of their closet arrangement.



When I first saw these commercials they made me angry; how dare Ikea assume that couples everywhere are so angry that they're prone to boil over at the slightest thing.

But I understand now. If I had a do-ad or thingy that kept my keys in the same place everyday, not to mention my phone, wallet or glasses, I'd be a whole lot safer.

Wasn't life easier when we could leave our doors unlocked and phones stayed attached to the walls? I wouldn't have keys to eventually find next to the washing machine in the basement, nor would I have had the desire to stomp my size 14 through that girls blackberry storm her parents bought her for getting a B on intro to psych.