Likely Normal

We’ve all been there – standing in an IKEA parking lot, staring at a flat-pack bookshelf that’s roughly the size of a baby elephant, while patting our Toyota Corolla like it’s a trusty pack mule. The internal dialogue always starts the same way: “It’ll fit if I just… angle it diagonally and maybe take the wheels off?” What follows is a masterclass in automotive denial, where we become temporary experts in physics-defying tetris, using every inch of cabin space like we’re preparing for a very weird apocalypse.

The real comedy begins when we attempt to close doors around objects that clearly have other plans. That passenger seat? Now home to a potted palm tree that’s slowly depositing soil into the AC vents. The trunk? Hosting a precarious Jenga tower of boxes that only stays put through the magic of one frayed bungee cord and three grocery bags wedged in as “padding.” And let’s not forget the classic “out-the-window hold” technique for those extra-long items, where your car suddenly becomes a modern art installation titled “Sedan Impaling a Ladder.”

Of course, the ride home transforms into a high-stakes obstacle course where every speed bump is the enemy and sudden stops could redecorate your interior with the contents of a Home Depot. The soundtrack? A symphony of ominous creaks, the occasional “was that a scrape?”, and your passenger nervously asking “should we have just paid for delivery?” for the seventh time. Yet somehow, against all odds and several traffic laws, you’ll arrive home victorious – though your car may never fully recover from its brief career as an impromptu moving truck. The real punchline? You’ll absolutely do it all again next weekend when you find that “perfect” vintage armchair on Craigslist. Because in the eternal battle between automotive reality and our stubborn optimism, the human capacity for denial always wins.