And, through the thrift shop, a wooden flute
Or I thought it was a wooden flute, picked it up, tried to play, could only get a single note, I'd figure it out.
And I did, there's a wooden block which covers the part I was blowing into, instead, I'm expected to blow into the end that looks suspiciously like a foreskin...
So, in other words, more of a "recorder" than a flute.
I'm annoyed beyond measure, I didn't want a recorder, I wanted a flute!
So I take it out on M******, showing him a fishbowl and telling him...."Next time I come up to you showing you this and SAYING that I want to buy this TV I WOULD APPRECIATE YOU CORRECTING MY GRAVE MISJUDGEMENT...!"
M's nonplussed. A sale is a sale.
And, in any event, these trifling failures keep the fire under my anti-materialistic ass. What good is buying anything when you have neither a place for it or have a clue as to what you are buying?