Scenes from an IKEA

Blondie is in her 40s, maybe a little older, and her hapless husband, Dagwood, are barreling through the store. Blondie has a huge list in hand. Dagwood walks the respectful two paces behind her.

"YOU JUST DON'T GET IT," she shrills back at him. "JUST DON'T SAY ANYTHING AT ALL. IT'S STUPID, IT'S STUPID." And yeah, she was screaming at him. People were hurrying away from them but I, er, kind of stuck around.

Okay, we know she's mental. But exactly in what way is she mental?

At the end of the trail, between the cafeteria, the kids section, and the hallway that leads to the restrooms, she shrieks, "I can't believe you're saying anything about this. Just don't say anything. You don't know what you're talking about. She has to have something to sit on."

Aha! Decorating madness coupled with approaching empty nest madness.

I feel so sorry for Dagwood. For all I know, he may really be an asshole, but no one deserves that kind of treatment in public.

He's losing his little girl, too, while she heads off to her first year of college, but Blondie is so wound up in herself that she can't see Dagwood's own suffering.

I decide to give myself a break and go into the cafeteria for a cup of their excellent coffee. I sit next to the window, watching the Continental planes land at Newark.

And from behind me, I hear a voice. It's Blondie.

"We don't have much time, she's got to get this together by tomorrow and you, you, I can't believe you!"

First of all, I wonder why Blondie's little princess isn't along for the ride, much less not chosing how to decorate her own crib.

Secondly, I wonder why Dagwood even let himself get dragooned into this. Obviously, the college-dorm-decorating press gang came by and he wasn't quick enough to dash behind the garden shed.

I remember when I got ready for college. My mother waved a handful of bills at me and I went by myself to Southside Plaza, where I bought a couple of new outfits (all of which were immediately stolen from the car), then on to Penney's for two sets of sheets, two sets of towels, an alarm clock, and a little pot to heat water in. That was it.

I went to college with my stuff and myself stowed in the back seat. When I came home, the trunk was full, but that was it.

I've seen people pulling up to Rutgers with U-Haul trailers hitched onto the backs of Mommy's and Daddy's Suburbans.

Poor Dagwood. I want to encourage him to take up woodworking and build himself a nice work room in the garage. Maybe he could get into fly fishing or bow hunting.

Because not only is Blondie mental with an empty nest and decorating, there's probably some menopausal stuff going on here, too. It might take her five years for her to work her way out of it.

And in the meantime, he can build some nice bookcases so he never needs to go back to IKEA.