COLUMN: Magic words weren’t even spoken

There are times when the words being spoken aren’t necessarily the ones you’re hearing, which can turn out to be a good thing. 

Case in point is a recent chat I had with my wife over the state of our on-again, off-again search for a new couch. She had come across one that was strikingly similar to the one we have now, and suggested that rather than continuing to traipse around giant showrooms in search of one that might not exist, we simply place the order online. 

She was explaining all the details, from the style and colour to the fabric and dimensions, in an effort to convince me this was the right choice, but all I heard was: “We don’t have to go couch shopping anymore.” 

OK, so she didn’t actually say those words, but much like Tom Cruise had Renee Zellweger at ‘Hello,’ she most definitely had me at ‘online order.’ Whatever came next was entirely inconsequential. 

I know I should take more of an interest in a larger purchase, but I do think there’s something to be said for my indifference, a point I have raised in my defence frequently over the past 30 years. 

When my disinterest over whether a couch is too light or too dark, too ugly or too expensive bubbles to the surface, leaving my wife alone to decide which way to go, I can always lean on: “Would you prefer a husband that demands a big say in what the couch looks like or how much it’s going to cost?” 

Score one for indifference. 

Not only am I not terribly concerned by what a new couch might look like, but this tedious search is always compounded by the omnipresent salesperson, who has put you in their crosshairs from the moment you entered the store, ready to unleash the particulars every time you so much as slow down near a couch, let alone sit on one. 

I realize they’re just doing their job, and their input can be helpful, so I’m not looking to dump on these hard-working folks, but after a couple of laps around the showroom with one of them in hot pursuit, you invariably get to a point where you start contemplating whether a restraining order might be necessary. 

Ironically, the last time we bought a couch provided another example of where the words being spoken weren’t necessarily the ones being heard. I remember being at one of those giant showrooms and can specifically recall the salesperson extolling the benefits of whatever protective coating they had put on the fabric, claiming that any type of stain, even urine, would be repelled. 

My guess is she was referring to the dog, but in order to inject a little fun in an otherwise unwelcome task, I said to her: “If I’m hearing you correctly, and I believe that I am, you’re telling me that I no longer have to choose between watching the end of the movie or making a trip to the bathroom.” 

The look on her face led me to believe I wouldn’t need a restraining order to keep her away.