Sometimes your furniture beats the shit out of itself. Although, I don’t really know, I’ve never personally met your furniture.

But say that it did.

And also say you bought said piece of furniture from a furniture store and at that time you inquired about their repair services because you’re the kind of person who feels it necessary to populate the world with your DNA (because you have fabulous cheekbones) and the result is the pint-size version of your Uncle Ted who often strips off his clothes and throws tantrums on the floor. This would be that conversation:

You: This kid insists on ruining everything a fraction worthwhile in my life. What happens if he/she/it carves a picture of Abe Vigoda into our new dining room table?

Salesperson (Let’s call him Stuart Schletzel who was consistently poked fun of and called “Schletzel the Pretzel” all through middle school): Montage. Cue jazz hands.

You: Montage? What the fu…um, what does Montage mean? The jazz hands have thrown you off. Considerably.

Stuart: Montage. Our repair service. You’ve never heard of Montage?

You: Have you never heard of my boot up your…

Here Stuart clears his throat, phlegm gyrating against his Adam’s Apple. You have the feeling he wants to pick his nose and are sure if he attempts to make that move, you’ll break his finger off.

Stuart: Oy, Montage is our repair service. You pay up front and at any time, day or night, afternoon, before you hit the showers, after you hit the showers, in conjunction with telling your mother off or right before you schedule your monthly waxing, a Montage professional arrives at your house and fixes the issue.

You: What if he can’t fix the issue?

Stuart: Then we’d replace the dining room table, free of charge.

You: Now you listen hear, Pretzel…

Stuart: M’am (here Stuart starts inching his index finger toward his face and you chew on the insides of your cheeks to keep from pouncing. He brushes a renegade eyelash from his cheek. False alarm), I don’t know if you’ve ever had your coffee table set on fire but I know exactly four people who have and if Montage didn’t exist those people would have no place to rest their tired, aching feet or be able to provide a stage for their degenerate children to dance on. Do you want those people to suffer? Do you??

You: I guess, well, no…

Stuart: So I’ll put you down for Montage. Stuart begins to slowly wiggle his jazz-like fingers in Montage approval anticipation.

You: Okay.

Framing gone wild.

Weeks later your table will decide to disfigure itself in a heated jealous rage because the side table has stolen its girlfriend, the TV stand. Or it may have been because you finally got around to framing family photos (forty-seven years later) and didn’t put down a towel first.

Either way, you’re finally given the privilege of experiencing Montage firsthand. It goes something like this:

The furniture store sends an ex-con to your house who describes, in detail, the time he was almost knifed to death in a San Antonio shopping center for a drug deal gone bad. But don’t worry, it was all a big misunderstanding.

Jazz hands.

Do you have furniture that beats the shit out of itself?  Also, be sure to stop by Project: Underblog and visit me today!  You don’t want me to get lonely over there.  I might start contemplating going back to grad school or something even more harrowing.