Before moving to Orlando, I sold most of my furniture on Craigslist. It would have cost more to move the stuff down here than it was worth.
For the past six months, we have been sleeping on mattresses and eating off a table with a broken leg. On Friday, I had enough of living like college students. While shopping at Costco, I picked up a couple gallons of milk, some eggs, and a living room sofa.
On the way home from Costco, I stopped at my husband's work and presented him with the receipt. "I need you to go pick up this sofa with your truck. Please."
Like most men, my husband breaks out into hives at the thought of doing something awkward and unreasonable, like asking a store manager to give him something that he's already paid for.
Because he is tired of hearing me conflate living in our house with camping, he agreed to do what I asked.
The sofa looked great in the store and on the picture on the box but not so good in my living room. Like most houses in Florida, mine has tall ceilings. Like many sofas made today, this one was super small. The sofa looked like it belonged in a doll house.
My husband was wholly unconcerned, however, about the scale of the furniture that he had brought home. He was positively giddy, on the other hand, about the fact that he had managed to pick up the sofa without having to engage anyone in a sustained conversation. Because of this, I decided not to tell him that the sofa was going back until the next morning.
"I need you return the sofa for me," I announced at breakfast. My husband's face twisted into agony at the mention of the offensive word.
Return.
All sales are final for my husband. Returning something that is the wrong color or size, or is missing a part, is unfathomable.
"I think it looks fine," my husband told me as he attempted to sit on the miniature sofa. He is 6'3'' and his knees were basically touching his chest.
"It needs to go back today," I told him.
As luck would have it, my husband returned the sofa to the same store manager who had given it to him the night before.
When he got home, he was not in a good mood. "What happened?" I asked.
"They wanted to know why I was returning it!" he cried.
"No!" The Costco people had crossed the line and something had to be done about it.
"What did you tell them?" I asked, almost in a whisper.
"That it was too small for the room."
"And what did they do?" I waited with baited breath.
"They gave me my money back," he answered.
I exhaled deeply. Who knew that returning something at Costco could be so hard and dramatic?
"They were looking at me funny the whole time," he complained.
I assured him that the people behind the customer desk at Costco have bigger things to worry about than the personal hangups of a middle-aged man.
"I'll bet that they won't even remember you," I told him.
Tonight we went to Costco for dinner. As we passed by the customer service desk, a man in a red vest waved in our direction. "Hello again!" he called out to my husband.
My poor husband wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
*****
Anyone have a good story that includes husbands and coupons/store returns? I love 'em!