In which your humble narrator pleads with Swedes to undo their misdeeds.
Yesterday, Wife and Sister-of-me accompanied me and the children to our local IKEA for some super-cheap breakfast and crazy-fun time playing on the furniture displays. For those of you who do not have small children and don't live on the frozen tundra I should explain that when the cold winds of winter begin to blow in October, house husbands, like your humble narrator, become desperate for something to do to get out of the house with the offspring. IKEA serves as our own personal indoor playground for the snowy/rainy/freezy months.
I frequently drag some relation out to breakfast at the IKEA once a month or so. It has child-friendly, bland food and a family of 4 can have breakfast for less than $8.00. And as long as you're cool with the bus-loads (literally) of developmentally disabled folks that have also discovered this happenin' breakfast spot it's a good way to kill a morning. The food is not so great. They eggs have a distinctly industrial color and freakishly uniform texture. The bacon is more like the ghost of bacon. But the potatoes... well those were good. (Cue ominous music.)
Child #1 has been a big fan of the potatoes at breakfast. Tasty, finger sized cubes of potatoey goodness perfect for dippin' in ketchup. (Or as Child #1 says: Topatoes in Chup.) But the potatoes have changed. Not longer are they perfect little bite-sized cubes. Now the potatoes are a part of some un-Godly frozen vegetable hash with the following components: tiny greasy onion bits, microscopic red bell pepper fragments, green bean bits, itty-bitty carrot strings and unidentifiable yellow things (in IKEA-speak: "Weyrdyelobitz*").
So, please Overlords of Crappy Swedish Cafeteria Breakfast, change the damn potatoes back! I can't handle this sort of change.
*There should be an umlaut in here somewhere but I can't figure out how to make blogger do that. Please imagine it over the vowel of your choice. Hell, imagine two of 'em. I won't judge.
You forgot the asparagus. There were disgusting shriveled asparagus bits that tasted like "frozen." (Frozen what? I'm still not sure). It hurt me in my soul.
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