Futon! Futon!

So I'm standing there in the futon store, just completely bowled over by the fact I've actually made a decision, that I'm buying a futon, and then Futon Sales Guy says, "What's your phone number? I need to give it to the delivery man." And for the love of Tom DeLay, I have no idea. So I said, "(555) 222-5084." When I got home a couple hours later, I had finally figured out that the last four digits of the made-up number I'd given Futon Sales Guy were actually a combination of the last four digits of my my cell phone and my home phone both. So then I had to call the futon place and admit that I do not know my own phone number.

The delivery people -- who were scheduled to arrived between 6 pm and 8 pm -- called at exactly 6 pm. When was the last time your delivery people actually called when they were supposed to? Heck, or even showed up between the appointed hours? People, my futon was here at 6:20 pm. I have futon pieces all over my living room floor. I don't even know where the futon is actually going to go and if it weren't for company arriving Friday, I might actually leave the futon in its various boxes and plastic wrappings right where they are so I don't actually have to deal with rearranging my hard-to-rearrange living room. I will keep you updated on this front: S., R., and I will be assembling the futon tomorrow; I've been told assembling the futon is easier than assembling IKEA furniture (S. reminded me that if building IKEA furniture was one of the challenges on this week's Amazing Race, obviously building IKEA furniture is not for the light of heart). We also have the example of R's mother in front of us -- who singlehandedly built a futon and English isn't even her first language. This ought to be a piece of cake, yes?