The bears go sofa shopping

It has become apparent, as our entertaining schedules have picked up recently, that we do not possess adequate seating for guests. Although WE don't mind carrying on a conversation while sitting on whatever happens to be handy -- a stepstool, the edge of a desk, the edge of the bathtub, etc. -- guests show some aversion to this. And so this weekend we set out on a quest, like Baby Bear on his search for the perfect chair, porridge, and bed, to try various sofas.

Joe immediately liked Sofa #1, which we had seen on the store's Web site but which was NOT in one of the stores conveniently located within 500 miles of us, and which necessitated a hazard-filled trip on several interstates to a different state. We had many criteria for an acceptable sofa, the primary one -- in addition to being comfortable for guests -- being that it must be big enough to take a nap on. Sofa #1 looked as if it would amply meet this criteria. We did not put it to the test there in the store, although Joe wanted to.

The helpful saleswoman brought us our requested samples, none of which, we were disappointed to note, were leather. We preferred leather, primarily because there were fewer choices in leather. The fabric samples for this particular sofa included every fabric ever invented, and probably a few that had spontaneously evolved.

I laid the swatches she gave us across my leg. The three of us stared, first at the swatches, then at my clothing. All three swatches perfectly matched what I was wearing. Although we did not plan this, it struck us as a helpful tactic should we need to continue shopping for colors. The saleswoman assured us that we could take the samples home and see how they looked in the room. "Or," she said helpfully, "you could just try out your pants and sweater and coat in the room."

In the midst of Joe's waxing eloquent over the sofa's many excellent qualities, I looked at the tag hanging from the side and read the name of the sofa. "Don't get too comfy," I said. "This is not the one we came to see." The numbers on the tag, not surprisingly, also did not match those for the one we had come to look at.

Sofa #2 , which we had come to see, and which on the Web site had appeared small, and cute, and perfect for us, looked, in person, to be small, and cute, and perfect for a couple of fleas to take a nap on, provided their legs were not overly long. We felt like at any moment we could be unceremoniously catapulted from the seat, flung across the aisle, and deposited on the bed opposite us.

We proceeded to another store, where the sign for Sofa #3 proclaimed that "the flared back legs add a little surprise from the derrière." This sounded promising. Moreover, this sofa was in leather. We sat down.

Joe shifted a bit and then frowned. "Do you feel a little surprise from the derrière?"

I admitted I did not, and we discreetly positioned our derrières on different areas of the sofa in an effort to discover this surprise. After several minutes of effort, and still feeling nothing out of the ordinary, we gathered our uncooperative derrières and moved on. If a surprise was to be discovered, it would have to be by more sensitive derrières than we apparently possessed.

But we have not entirely crossed this sofa off our list. We figure if we have guests, and the conversation is flagging, we can ask them if they feel a little surprise from the derrière.