My husband recently declared in front of a group of people that he would rather stick needles into his eyes than go shopping.

Anytime, anywhere. Bring on the needles.

He was not kidding.

He hates to shop so much he will only go to the mall when the end of a rainbow lands on our roof or when a small tornado originates in our kitchen. Which means: Never.

When I told him we needed another couch and asked him to go shopping with me I almost laughed at my own joke.

But, funny enough, or maybe  because we had had a wee spat the night before and he did not want to land on our existing couch again, he actually put on a big, fake smile and said in this strangled voice, “Okay, honey.”

Shocked at his easy acquiescence, and knowing that a vision of worms gnawing at his kidneys would be more appealing than shopping, I shoved him into the car and peeled out of the driveway before his courage deserted him.

I attempted a pep-talk along the way. We are looking to replace our beige couch which is covered by a white slip cover because beneath the slip cover the couch looks like a beige coffin with cushions, I told him. The slip cover is now ripping. The couch looks diseased.

He nodded. He looked rather pale.  When we entered the mall he became more pale. Twitched a bit. I grabbed his hand to calm The Pathetic Shopping Wimp.

One couch we saw looked like a giant blood clot.

Another had such a crazy design I was sure if I stared at it long enough I would hallucinate.

Still another couch reminded me of a couch one would purchase if one lived in jail full time.

I did not like the modern stuff at all.  I did not like all the flowing flowers.

He did not like stripes. He did like white leather recliners. I informed him that we would have white leather recliners in our house as soon as my neck grew a second head. He wanted a recliner with arm rests with holes for beer cans. Ha. No way, that is a stupid idea, I said, as politely as I could manage.

Finally, we found a sectional we both liked. This was nothing short of miraculous. We liked the saleslady, too. I was pleased she was not young, skinny, stacked, and flirting with my husband like a recent waitress at a pancake restaurant.

She told us soon after we met that she was married for almost three decades and then “got rid” of that husband for a  “better model.”

I related to her completely and we were off and running.

In the show room, the sectional looked like it would fit but when we returned home we realized it would fill so much of our family room it would resemble a great blue glob.

We were almost ready to buy the Great Blue Glob, however, because it was so comfortable and we could be on it with all of the children in our home who refer to us as “mom” and “dad,”  plus our psycho cat, K.C. who recently took an accidental tumble in our clothes dryer. (We didn’t know she was in there when we pressed, ‘on.’ She was not happy when she stumbled, about fifteen seconds later, from the dryer.)

I looked at my unsuspecting husband.  “Perhaps we should keep shopping for another couch?”
I could actually see the blood draining from his face at the very thought of yet another shopping trip. He coughed. Wiggled. Rolled his shoulders. Twitched again.  “I think the blue couch is perfect.”

Yep. I thought, so, too. But to torture him further I smirked and said, “Next weekend we’ll shop for new chairs.”

He actually had to sit down and breathe deeply, head to hands.

Poor dear.