Title: Things to do in Ikea When You’re Bored
Disclaimer: Steve, Susan and Jeff belong to Hartswood films and not me.
Summary: See Title. Crack!bunny inspired and encouraged by <lj user="mrs_norrington">. Set in Series 2, post “Her Best Friend’s Bottom”.
Author's Notes: Ireland doesn't have an Ikea, and I've not visited one anywhere else, so I probably have the details wrong. It could conceivably be set in any large DIY/home store, not specifically Ikea. Blame <lj user="mrs_norrington"> for the bunny.
Rating/Warning(s): 15 or whatever one would judge suitable when Jeff is involved.
“Susan, why are we even buying tablecloths?” Steve asked. “I’ve managed to live my whole adult life without them, and I don’t feel it’s any loss.”
“Steve, you do remember when you asked me to move in with you?” Susan asked.
“Yes,” said Steve cautiously. “Of course I do. It was a great moment when you said yes.”
“Well when you asked me to move in you automatically lost control of interior decoration in your flat. It’s part of the small print of relationships. The girl always knows best when it comes to decoration – you said it yourself about fabric.”
Steve winced. He had had no idea how that particular rant would come back and bite him in the behind.
“But still, Susan, I mean – Tablecloths were only invented to repress sexual desire in men. Do you want to repress me?”
“Of course I don’t. But I think tablecloths are pretty, and you said you’d buy me pretty things,” Susan replied, twirling her hair and pouting prettily. “Besides, the sight of naked table legs doesn’t send you into a frenzy of rampant amorousness.”
“Pretty things to wear,” Steve muttered. “Under your clothes. And – and how do you know that it won’t happen after we get a tablecloth? The next time you remove it I might sexually assault the kitchen table, thanks to psychosexual repression associated with knowledge of the origins of the table cloth phenomenon.”
“I want a tablecloth, and that’s the end of it,” said Susan.
“Yes, dear,” said Steve in surrender.
“Oh, my God, this place is brilliant!”
Steve and Susan looked up as Jeff’s voice seemed to echo around them. They glanced at one another and decided to find out what Jeff was so happy about.
“At least there’s one man in my life who likes shopping for homewares,” Susan teased Steve.
“Just wait,” Steve muttered.
They rounded a corner and entered Kitchen Furniture. A small number of tables were set upright so that customers could see images printed on them and covered in plastic. Clearly, these ones were for use by students or Best Men in weddings – or, at least Best Men with a puerile sense of humour. Steve made a note to remind Jeff or Patrick about these tables when it became his turn to walk down the aisle.
One table was blocked from view by a Welshman that seemed to be trying to French kiss it.
“Jeff, what are you doing?” Steve called out.
Jeff jumped, and neither Steve nor Susan was especially surprised to see a picture of a scantily-clad actress on the face of the table.
“I’m getting this,” said Jeff, grinning madly.
“You already have a kitchen table Jeff,” Susan pointed out reasonably.
“I never said she’d be a table, though. She can’t be a table, anyway - she’s too gorgeous for that,” said Jeff.
“Susan,” said Steve, as they made their way to the cashier, “I take it back. Clearly there are men in this world who need tablecloths and Victorian repression.”