Does anyone else get a mental visual of Robin Williams dressed in red polyester when viewing this empty wrapper? If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times: those crazy Swedes, with their umlaut-ed vowels.
So I was back at Ikea this week. And while I didn’t get a chance to down a dozen meatballs, I did stop for a bottle of water at the cafeteria and was met with a display full of chocolate bars. Some milk, some dark. Being the person that I am, surprise, surprise: I picked up the dark (it was the perfect thing to pair with my water, and nourish me for the attack of a shopping list replete with lightbulbs, rug underlays, and kid-art frames).
And it was good. Especially considering the fact that it cost me one dollar. That’s twice as much as the hotdog that I ate a few hours later, on my way out of the Euro-Wonderland, but a third of the cost of most dark chocolate bars I purchase.
Several years ago, when my husband started his PhD, and we were “poor graduate students,” (even though I was finished with my studies and, in fact, somewhat gainfully employed), we used to buy a five-dollar double-bottle of wine from a warehouse club. And we thought, you know, this is pretty good. And so that’s the wine we drank, for almost a year. And then one day we happened to drink some decent wine — and realized almost instantly that what we had been drinking for a year was closer in relation to a beverage that came in a large box with a pour spout. Therefore, I’m the first to admit that, in times of economic desperation (or just pressure), I can put on my own pair of culinary rose-colored glasses. So, this chocolate. This bar of one-dollar dark chocolate. Maybe, somewhere down the line, after eating through a case of them (bearing in mind that I didn’t even buy a single extra bar to bring home with me), and then splurging on some organic, fair-trade, 70% dark something-or-other, I’ll realize how I’ve been fooled.
But, until then.
Anyone going to Ikea?