Every now and again, I may as well be selling Marmite on spelt toast. Maybe it's the full moon. It might be some global electrochemical phenomenon. It's probably the heat.
It happens unexpectedly like a burp at Mateo or a pimple at middle age. I offer an elegant vanity and my beloved customer acts like I've offered her a standing-room only ticket to a reading of Beowulf. I go to sell someone a gorgeous dresser and in its place stands an extra small scratchy wool sweater. Then as quickly as the beast came, she's gone. People go back to pawing the pillows and manhandling the drawers and all is well with the world.
Likewise, the underdogs all seem to have their day around here. At Joyful we aren't above carrying a few Goofy pieces, and we'll even work with the occasional Benji or Cujo. Of course, no sooner do we shyly set it on the floor than a car screeches to a halt outside, the new owner whistles, and up jumps little Lassie wagging and panting all the way home.
I guess we shouldn't be surprised at the inconstancy of it all. We tear apart and rebuild everything that will stand still long enough to let us. Who's to say we have a monopoly on shape shifting?
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