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It was getting close to lunch so my recently retired dad and I decided to brave the Ikea cafeteria on a recent outing. Despite a few embarrassing kiddo moments (we always seem to cause a scene in the Ikea dining room) we gave it a go. The food is delicious and so inexpensive, it’s practically free.
We brought our meatball laden plates to a table and sat down. My daughter was fully engrossed in her mac & cheese as a couple walked past our table. The woman caught Avery’s attention. She caught mine too. She had to be in her seventies and was rockin’ a fabulous pair of skin tight pleather pants. As her husband brushed past, my child reached out and patted his bum (this was not the first time Avery has fondled a strange man’s bottom by the way). At least she didn’t grab his “meat balls!”
He whipped his head around and looked directly at me! “It was her, I swear!” I exclaimed pointing at the kid with the macaroni noodle stuck to her cheesy chin. He looked back and forth between us and I’m not convinced he believed me. Seriously dude. If I was going to slap anyone’s bottom, it would’ve been your wife’s! I mean, pleather, c’mon now.
We made a hasty exit. My dad held Avery’s hand as he guided her out of the restaurant. I followed closely behind.
We were nearly there—the plush animals and plastic toy bins were mere steps away. We made it through a lunch in public relatively unscathed. The last time we ate there, Avery choked. Another time she pushed over a chair. It was so loud I wanted to crawl into a nylon Ikea tent and hide. There was also the time she threw her entire lunch onto the floor as she knocked her lingonberry juice all over the table. So all in all, this meal was a major success. One slapped bootie? No biggie (the incident that is, not the bootie).
We passed the last table as an older woman was just sitting down with her tray of meatballs and a mound mashed potatoes. Avery spotted the white starchy dome, looking like a freshly moulded snow ball. Before I could stop it, she reached out her free hand and with an open palm, she slapped those spuds. My dad didn’t notice and continued to lead Avery through the aisle between the tables.
I wish I could say I stopped and offered to replace the assaulted side dish. Instead I gasped, uttered a horrified, “Oh my god. I’m SO sorry!” and fled.
Potato Lady, I sincerely hope they gave you a replacement scoop of potatoes, otherwise I owe you 99 cents. Potato Lady, please know that I do have manners, but I panicked. I just couldn’t face yet another humiliating episode in the Ikea cafe. Potato Lady, please accept my apology and if our paths should ever cross again, I’ll buy you one of those dollar GIANT chocolate bars at the Ikea checkout. Yummy milk chocolate for a buck? It’s the best deal out there. But I digress. I’m sincerely sorry that my daughter slapped your spud mound.
