As you may recall....yesterday (see, I figured you'd recall it what with being just yesterday), I had the brilliant scheme going that I was going to scam new end tables to go with our new couches. The couches so big that no matter HOW we jostled, the wedge piece that would complete the sectional would never, ever fit.
Off I went to the showroom, tape measure firmly in hand. I marched to the "annex", where an identical piece sat, without its two couch pieces, and flung open the tape measure, reached down to measure the diagonal front part of the wedge, knowing that I had 18" at home to work with, and VOILA! 21". Eureka! On another note, there was a contestant on Jeopardy last night named Eureka. That name could only be given to a baby conceived by commune-living hippies at Woodstock, or by complete nerd intellects in some brightly
-lit science lab....I'm going with the nerd likelihood. She was on JEOPARDY.
But I digress. Boy, do I.
Okay, back the the "annex", where now my salesman walks towards me, not recognizing me in my hat. "Don't worry," I say, when he apologizes for not knowing me right away, "my gramma thinks I look like a 15 year old in it." And I think she means a fifteen year old boy. Not sure. Maybe I need a new hat AND a new bra. Hm.
So, I'm running my mouth off to "Ron", let's call him that. It's his name. I'm telling him how I'm not sure it'll all fit. He's thinking I want to return ALL of the couch pieces. I'm explaining how the only POSSIBLE thing I can think of is that we reverse the positions of the couch and loveseat currently in the living room and that will....give...us...the...space...we...need....for....the...wedge...to ...fit.
No new tables. But the wedge gets here between noon and two this afternoon.