This fact (as well as the numerous stains made on the undersides of the cushions when I take this analogy to heart late at night), required us to bite the bullet…
…and get a new one.
I hate furniture shopping.
I hate furniture shopping because it’s like going car shopping except you can’t play with the f*cking cup holders.
(unless you buy the “trailer trash” couch…which has integrated cup holders AND a stick to beat your dog with in a hidden compartment)
The wife and I packed the munchkins up…
…for what turned out to be a five-hour long ordeal.
FIVE. F*CKING. HOURS.
…and all I got was a f*cking microwaved cookie served to me by one of the “furniture store hostesses.”
I’m assuming that you’re relegated to “furniture store hostess” duty when you just don’t have the stuff to make it to the “Big Show”…
…where you can sell an ottoman to a plumber.
Reach for the stars, ladies!
We decided to forego our local “Bob’s Discount Furniture” store (Bob’s Motto: “I F*ck Goats! You have purdy lips! Buy a recliner!”) in favor of “Jordan’s.”
Jordan’s Furniture was made famous last year for their “Red Sox World Series” promotion – where if the Red Sox won the series, you’d get your purchase FOR FREE.
Really. No kidding.
Did the Sox win the World Series?
You bet your ass they did.
Did lots of people who decided to buy their furniture last year get it all for free?
Did WE decide LAST YEAR to buy our furniture?
Of course the f*ck not.
There have to be ground rules.
Me: “OK, kids. I want no running around and jumping on the furniture. This is NOT a playground. Got it?”
Kids: “Got it!”
Five full minutes into the store, we sounded like this:
Me: “GET OFF THE BUNKBEDS!! You can’t eat that, it’s fake!”
Wife: “No!! No!! There’s wires back there!!”
(kids cackle crazily…eyes glowing red)
Me: “CAM! I told you not to spit on the pillows!”
Wife: “Howthe f*ck did Payton get on the chandelier?!”
Me: “Where the Hell did they find a pony?”
Trying to keep your kids calm in a furniture store is like trying to swat flies with a f*cking toothpick.
Complete and utter chaos.
I add up the cost of it.
Three Thousand Dollars.
Let me tell you, for three grand I’m f*cking the cushions on this thing even WITHOUT holes in it.
(Now that I’m thinking about it, I should have probably opted for the fabric protection)
What’s so f*cking great about this?
My kids are running around like they’ve had alcohol for the first time at college…
…I’m about to drop three large on what technically amounts to wood and foam.
Lady. Trust me.
This is FAR from great.
My wife then begins going through no less than five thousand swatches of fabric….
I’m considering taking the kids down to see the cookie bitches on the first floor for another go ’round…
…and also to call them “peasants.”
CAN WE GO HOME NOW?!
Saleswoman: “Now…let’s pick out the fabric for the pillows.”
Me: “Pillows? What pillows?”
Well, it just so happens that we are also the proud owners of the FIFTEEN F*CKING PILLOWS currently sitting on the couch.
Mother of God. You’ve GOT to be kidding me.
What am I going to do with all these f*cking pillows?!?
Do I get a free harem with each purchase?
Seriously, the last time I saw this many pillows was in the orgy scene from Caligula.
…the saleswoman comes over and shows us the final bill:
Four thousand two hundred dollars.
At this point, I believe I poo’d a little.
Me: “Um…what happened to three thousand bucks?”
Saleswoman: “Well…the choice of fabric made it go up.”
Me: “The fabric made the price go up twelve-hundred dollars?”
Me: “Jesus H. Christ. What’s it made out of, King Tut’s ass hair?”
It turns out that King Tut had nothing to do with the fabric.
The now pissed-off saleslady gives shows us the fabric choice, “plastic,” and we’re happy.
Almost five hours.
And one SEXY couch…
…with the fabric protection option, of course.