Dear IKEA,

Let’s just say that, if the world were stuck in a zombie apocalypse, I would run straight to you. You have furniture, you have food, you even have children’s toys and a TV in case I get bored. I can always cook in your showroom kitchens, but in case I’m tired after a long day, I can infiltrate your snack bar for soft serve. I could exercise daily at the play structures in Småland, a world within a world. But, the best part is that the zombies wouldn’t even be able to find me because you are a freaking maze.

Aside from Spotify, Eriksson, and ABBA, you are one of Sweden’s greatest inventions since the beginning of mankind. Though assembling your furniture requires a long, complicated list of directions, your showrooms are #dormroomgoals. I mean, I even learned some Swedish so that I could understand the names you give to your furniture. My BILLY bookcase didn’t last as long as my POÄNG rocking chair, but your products are so cheap that it was worth it. I still use your pencils to take my midterm exams, and I have bags upon bags of Daim chocolates in my pantry (but if there is a zombie apocalypse, I’ll have a lifetime supply).

Before you, we poor, unassuming Americans were unaware about Sweden’s warm cinnamon rolls and modern design. Thanks to your food court, I know more about the lingonberry, an effective alternative to the cranberry guaranteed to make Thanksgiving dinners even more lit than before. And, apparently, your meatballs are a culinary masterpiece (though I wouldn't know because I’m a proud vegetarian). You brought us a piece of Sweden when the United States desperately needed it. I mean, sure, I was planning to move to Sweden anyway in case a certain orange-faced, tiny-fingered individual becomes president, but with that insanely generous maternity leave and incredibly low-income inequality, who wouldn’t want to raise their children in stunning Sweden?

My parents and I always say that we’ll be in and out in 30 minutes. I mean, all we need is a Tupperware -- that’s it, right? Wrong. I always wonder how I manage to get lost in the showroom and end up raiding the Swedish food market. And, don’t even get me started on the sheer amount of couples in the marketplace. As I look around and watch newlywed couples fight over an ODDVALD trestle, I realize that love isn’t love until it is put to the test at IKEA. You’re the best homewrecker I know.

But, the second I climb the escalator and look at the entrance poster of people waving at me saying “Hey,” I just feel at home. No matter how many minutes it takes to buy what I need, I know you’ll always be there when my chair breaks down or my ottoman gets torn. Thanks for everything, IKEA.

Sincerely,