Painful...

Still busy organizing, dismantling and redoing Sierra's room, she's been a blast to spend time with these past several days and we're very much enjoying our time together. Sierra is super funny, extremely quick witted and has mastered the uncanny ability to speak fluently in different accents. She can be in the middle of an imaginary British tea and the very next minute she will shout things like a little old man from India. It's really quite amusing and I marvel at her silly, unique sense of humor.

Now that we've gotten the room organized and we've tamed the closet monster, we've decided to just redo the whole thing - new paint, new bedding, new bed. (This was the suggestion of my husband, Mr. Fun Dad. Mr. Fun Dad is married to Mrs. Practical and guess who's most popular with the children?)  So, after the always-popular Mr. Fun Dad voiced his splendid decree, Sierra wasted no time choosing her new bedding - much to the chagrin of Mrs. Practical.

Anyone who knows Sierra knows that she has a flare for the unusual. One of her trademarks, as she calls it, is wearing clothes that don't match. For years, she's always worn two different colored socks. She's gotten a smidgen better as she ages, but Sierra will always have her own style. I should not be surprised, then, at her choices for bedroom colors - aqua, purple and lime green for her bedding and a primary grass-green for the walls. Still wanting her to have a voice, I'm hoping to persuade her (she's also very stubborn) to choose a slightly different shade of green for the walls. One that might actually match.  

Along with bedding, we've also spent the past couple days scouring the area for a reasonably priced (cheap) full size bed. Sierra found one that she immediately liked. Me, not so much. As beds go, it was fine, except that it was modern and her furniture is not. It was also black and her furniture is not. The salesman, who we attempted to avoid, maxed out both of his interpersonal skills managing our limited questions while trying, against our will, to entertain us. I knew, the minute we pulled into the parking lot of this particular retail store, that the salesman would be our biggest obstacle to buying. I'm not sure why they haven't figured this out by now, but it's been that way every time I've stepped inside.  

Sierra was immediately disenchanted when the in-your-face salesman swooped in, stuck his hand into our personal space to shake, demanded our names and promptly called her, Sara.  After each statement, he would wink at her and say, "Isn't that right, Sara?" Being Sierra, she made no attempt to correct him nor did she acknowledge his comments, because she was not Sara. He soon gave up on her and turned his attention to me. I did a tad better than Sara, but admit that I prayed quickly for extra grace.

Pinched for time, we had only wanted to run in and take a peek at what they had. We did our very best to politely convey this to the salesman, who surgically attached himself to us the minute we stepped far enough into the store that we could not safely turn and leave without becoming a spectacle. Every question that I asked took him about six minutes to answer. It wasn't that he didn't know the answer, it was that he needed to preface the answer with a slow-moving, redundant story that may or may not have led up to the answer. His inability to read our body language was another hurdle we needed to jump in order to walk alone, free from our newest appendage. This is where my husband's skills would have come in handy. He's much more blunt, direct and to-the-point than I am. I sometimes call it rude, but in this situation, it would have been quite appropriate.  

Sierra and I managed to get to the back of the store, where the children's and teen furniture was located, as our salesman retreated momentarily to take a phone call. By the time we actually made it back to the furniture, I had already decided that we would not be buying. I did not share this with Sierra and, of course, she quickly found the bed she thought she wanted. The floor model said Queen or King only, but I wanted to show Sierra that I was taking her opinion seriously. My mistake, at this point, was to ask another question. I thought I'd ask the question, get the six minute "no" and we'd be out the door. Not so easy. Mr. Pushy Sales said, "This is your lucky day, Sara. I know the sign says Queen and King only, but come with me."  I really don't like the come with me. That's the trip into the sticky web but, like two moths drawn to a flame, we politely followed.

Turns out they actually did have the bed she liked in a full size. Our lucky day. Once into the center of the store, the salesmen mecca, we were stuck. He introduced us to all his friends and gave a long-winded story about each. Noticing that the other salesmen completely ignored him, I found myself feeling just a tiny bit sorry for Mr. Pushy Sales, so I held tightly to my patience and extra grace, extending it often during my final minutes stuck in the web. We passed on the bed and about 24 minutes later, we finally found our way into the sunshine. Sierra looked at me with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes as we headed for the car and said - in her best Indian accent, "My, that was painful."