Hell ...

... aka IKEA.
Mr Brown & I have just returned from what is quite possibly the 7th circle of Hell (the appropriate circle because if we'd stayed a minute longer we'd have either killed someone or ourselves).
Now understand, we're note expecting a pleasant shopping experience. We understand that in exchange for cheaper goodies we forgo some of the niceties offered in, say, DJs. But it's that that much cheaper, Mr Ikea, to put up with this ....
1. Wander through entire store (because it's not designed to allow you to go straight to the section you are interested in).
2. Find a staff member who will give you a 'pick list' print out with the warehouse shelf location for each and every item you want. At this point you ask "are all the items available?" You are told "yes". "Are they booked as ours? Can we just pick it all up at the pick up?" You are told "we don't do that anymore".
3. Wander through endless more miles of store to get to the warehouse.
4. Right, you're at the warehouse, locate a trolley (the really, really big one) and start looking for isle, shelf and 'location' numbers, because each and every item has a different one.
At this point you will find some of the items aren't on the shelves. You may find the one of you accuses the other of misreading the locations, item numbers, voices may become harsh, bits of paper may be thrown, 'talk to the hand gestures' may even be made. This is a low point.
5. Finally, find most of what you are looking for, much of this is really, really big and mind-bogglingly heavy and awkward to lift. Things like "for god's sake hold the fucking trolley still" may be said in a tone that is not appreciated. Phrases such as "don't you speak to me like that" may well be thrown back in retaliation.
In an effort to salvage what is left of your marriage you try a little humour, speculate on how many dwarfs or little old ladies are crushed in the isles every day. How many heart attacks, slipped discs or foot maimings occur every week. You may plot, together, an elaborate pantomime, faking an accident. In the end, since neither of you is prepared to lie on the floor under a Pax wardrobe carcase, this comes to nothing.
6. More endless wandering, this time pushing at least a metric tonne of flat-pack on a poorly-designed trolley, until you reach the checkout queues. Stand here for some time, consider leaving the trolley of stuff and making a run for it. No, wait, you are being served, hand over an considerable amount of dosh.
Ask about home delivery. Push your tonne of crap to the home delivery queue. Once served find this bit, the only bit NOT run by Ikea, is quick, efficient, cheap and cheerful (although, obviously we reserve our final opinion until the actual delivery tomorrow).
7. Swear NEVER. EVER TO RETURN, only to remember you HAVE to because despite the computer saying there are 23 Pax, hinged, wardrobe doors, in birch, on the shelf, there isn't a-fucking-one!
And now of course we have to build it. Mr Brown says he thinks we can do this, without ending up divorced, if he is left to do it without help. If help is required I'm to hand him things but say nothing. I think he's being a tad unfair.