I had an uncle once who was born with three legs. He wanted to be a dancer, but he had three left feet. Tragically, he got into a car accident and became a quintriplegic (Disclaimer: the preceding anecdote is a complete fabrication for entertainment purposes only! No three-legged thespian uncles were harmed in the making of that joke. My sincerest apologies for my insensitivity to any demographic comprised of quintriplegic ex-ballerinas). Speaking of feet, do you think bats and chimps get Tarsal Tunnel Syndrome?
Anyway, I wanted to talk about my time as a furniture salesman. If you're a furniture salesman you might have to drag couches around and get good triceps (unless you're me. I've got try-harder-ceps and try-again-ceps!). You might not know what a finial is and sound like a complete dumbass. You might have to assemble many a dining room set. You might sell that ugly ass headboard with the horses carved into it because you talk a little girl in a cowgirl outfit into making her mom buy it for her. You might also sell that ridiculous looking stained-glass night stand because you convince some guy that it goes well with a stained-glass lampshade as a set. Boy, I was a mean furniture salesman!