Why Sit When You Can Stand Up For Yourself?

I'm still rattled after my brief exchange with a shop assistant this morning, regarding the potential acquisition of a second-hand sofa. I need another sofa in my sitting room.  This became clear to me last Sunday when I was confronted with the sight of my visitors sitting in a row on the one and only sofa I possess. They looked as though they were at the movies, waiting for the Coming Soons to end so that they could get stuck-in to the main feature. I felt sorely tempted to dash into the kitchen and rustle up some popcorn, but I don't have any. (Note to Self: must buy sofa and popcorn).


Having ascertained that my social life would come to a standstill unless I obtained a second sofa, I hied me to the local second-hand shop, deciding on the way that it would be a jolly good idea to suggest a trade-in: one sofa for an ugly and imposing old dining room dresser currently languishing in my garage.


My suggestion was met with a look of scorn and disbelief. "Make an ex ... chaaange?", exclaimed the shop assistant incredulously. He grinned at my obvious stupidity and looked around as though expecting a chorus of shoulder-shrugging fellow workers and shoppers to join in his triumphant disbelief. "Yes," I replied, undaunted. "I give you a perfectly good dresser, you give me a sofa". "We don't do that," he smirked, nastily. "Oh", I remarked, snippishly,     * "so you get the furniture for free, sell it and pocket the proceeds." He nodded in the affirmative, a supercilious smirk spreading across his weasly features. 


With nothing more than a slight sniff and a raised eyebrow, I admitted defeat graciously. Luckily I had recently subjected myself to a bout of tweaking, so the eyebrow-raising was effortless, though apparently not impressive. Before leaving I took what revenge I could by sauntering around the second-hand clothing section, rifling through the clothes and wearing an expression on my face which made it clear to anyone who might notice, that I wouldn't be seen dead, oops, passed-on in any of these garments. 


Buying clothes was not on my agenda anyway due to (1.) the fact that funds are low right now and (2.) I am trying to avoid buying anything which is not absolutely necessary. Another reason for not spending money on clothes, second hand or otherwise, is that I have gained a few (good old British understatement) pounds since giving up smoking last year. Quite a quandary. Can’t fit into my old clothes, can’t afford to buy new ones. This didn’t stop me from trying on a few sale items at a shop in town. I might have bought some of the items had the shop assistant not eyed me up and down and suggested that I try a LARGE size! Since when was a size 14 (British) considered to be LARGE?


Surely every purveyor of women’s clothing should know that the L word should never, on no account, be uttered, no matter what size the customer may be. Even if the customer has just tried on a tent, it is the saleswoman’s duty to observe that it looks perfect, the colours complement madam’s eyes beautifully and it is the last size 8 left in the store. 


I handed back the few items I had tried to squeeze into, remarking that they looked better on the clothes hanger than on me. On the way home I decided that I would rather brave the supercilious sofa-seller than the totally tactless shop assistant. At least I wouldn’t have to try the sofas on.

* To be fair I indulged in poetic licentiousness here. In truth the shop is a charitable concern, providing employment for (downright snotty) people who would otherwise be out of work.