Couch dance

This cold/flu/whateveritis has been kickin' my ass since Tuesday. Add to that the fact that I stayed up way past my bedtime Friday night havin' way too much fun, and you can imagine how worthless I was this morning when I finally emerged from the bedroom like the patron saint of puffy eyes.

Jim wanted to go furniture shopping, because we need a couch. Our primary seating arrangement for years upon end has been two easy chairs, and we finally decided we miss sitting with each other. Plus, bad dog Snickers will be delighted 100% of the time, because he will be able to sit in one place and touch both of us. The dog has serious abandonment issues, but we'll psychoanalyze him in another post.

I really felt foggy this morning, but I hate to pass up a chance to shop for furniture. That may be the most girlie thing you ever see me write. It's true, though; I love furniture stores (except Art Van, may they rot in ripoff hell), and I love to look at furniture I'd never buy, mostly because it wouldn't fit in my house. And I can't resist the urge to throw myself on the nearest chaise, preferably with lots of strangers watching, fling my arm over my forehead and declare, "I have the vapors!" in my worst southern belle accent. It just never gets old. So I choked down some of that noxious but magical orange antifreeze labeled Dayquil (all I taste is the quils), covered enough of my body to prevent arrest and/or chapping, and went on the road to Couchville.

We were two of maybe six customers when we hit Sofa Mart, so the salesman had plenty of opportunity to hover. We didn't see exactly what we wanted on the showroom floor, so we wandered back into the clearance room to see if we could find a deal. After snaking through the rows and sitting here and there, we came upon a dual-recliner couch in a color we could live with, and proceeded to test the mechanism. We both agreed that it was comfortable and had good reclining action. But when I went to un-recline, my footrest wouldn't stay down. Before I could get up, the salesman had rushed over to help, and I stepped out of the poor boy's way as he pushed, hammered, and pounded on the recalcitrant footrest with increasing frustration and reddening of the face. After repeated, failed attempts to get the footrest to stop popping back up like one of those pesky four-hour erections, he stopped and looked up at me. I smiled sweetly and said "Guess we know why it's in the clearance room."

The selection at Skaff was better, though we still didn't see exactly what we were looking for. I did, however, find my fainting couch and my crowd, so the trip was not a total loss. Some people are so easy. All I had to do was fling myself down dramatically on the chaise, and some folks were already chuckling before the arm had gone over the eyes. I love it when the crowd is easy. If they're already laughin' before you get to the punchline, they are yours for the takin'. Yeah, I amuse myself in public a lot.

Our final stop on this little sofa-go-round, Value City Furniture, yielded no reclining couch for us, and would not be worth noting, save for the sight we beheld in the lot as we walked back to the car. As we approached the Cruiser, I happened to look down, and there, in the parking lot of South Flint Plaza, was a used, squashed tampon - a Tampax Super, if I had to guess. A tampon used, abandoned, and apparently the victim of more than one wrestling match with a car tire. It would have been wrong not to share this, so I got Jim's attention and pointed. He foolishly followed my finger and found himself staring at the strawberry pancake tampon. The look on his face said something like, "Why the FUCK would you go out of your way to make me look at that?"

As I stared, held captive wondering what could possibly be the story behind this, all I could think to say was, "Holy shit, I wish I'd brought my camera."