Welcome To Kansas Sofa Mart

“Welcome to Kansas Sofa Mart. How are you today? Looking for anything in particular?” They look like an odd couple. He is old and ugly; she is young and cute. Too cute. Husband glares. Wife runs toward salesman, jumps on my lap, strokes my beard. “You remind me of my daddy,” wife says. Husband looks damned mad. I jump out the sofa, dumping wife onto the floor. This seems to please him. (He may have the checkbook after all). “Sofas,” she says. “We want a sofa” (Easy, peasy. They sell themselves). “We have such a fine selection of sofas,” I tell them, giving them my winning smile. I lead them to the sofa section. We have at least two hundred sofas. She tries out all of them; he stands around, shaking his head, acting mad. She loves color; he does not. She loves paisleys, plaids, polka dots, stripes. He makes it clear it is black leather or nothing. Two hours later they choose nothing. “Thank you for coming in,” I say. Trying to gulp up a bit of a smile. (And wasting six hours of my day by not buying anything).