Reasons why local newspaper ads are entertaining

Some fab items for sale in my local newspaper this week. Fab, but puzzling. My comments underneath each item.

Rocking chair with footstool.
So, how does that work? Feet gain contact with stool, feet lose contact with stool, feet gain contact with stool, feet lose contact with stool, feet gain .... you get the picture. And this is supposed to be a relaxing way to spend an evening?

Bed for sale. Comfortable.
Why, that's so disappointing. There was I, fussy as always, wanting a bed as hard as concrete and that completely guaranteed sleeplessness, and there's only comfortable ones. Oh well, I'll just have to look again next week.

Large wall mirror. Very pretty.
Is this meant to be some kind of comfort?
'Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?'
'Well, seeing as you look like a DOG with a DISEASE, my dear, that would be me, then.'

Nateral Pine Cabinet with Mirrowed Doors. £7.
I've heard of pine. I've heard of cabinets. And I've heard of doors. The rest? New to me, old chap.

Magic Corner Right Hand fits Left Side Corner Base. Never used.
Well, there's a surprise.

Early Learning Centre Crawling Mat. Encourages crawling. Six jungle sounds.
You want to bring up a baby, or you want to bring up an Amazonian dung beetle?

Pink butterfly baby bouncer.
Okay, you knew I was going to talk about syntax now, didn't you? Let's run through the options: one of my favourite games, this.
1. An exerciser device for newly-born butterflies - this one specifically for female baby butterflies, although not selling well, to be honest, because butterflies very quickly learn to move up and down of their own accord and no one seems to have realised that they don't need this kind of help.
2. A pink bouncer for that baby who didn't quite turn out the shape you thought it would. Although you're trying to look pleased and proud when lunching with friends, the wings on two month old little Frankie do rather turn heads.
3. A baby bouncer shaped like a giant pink butterfly which was bought for you by a doting aunt for your whacking great boy baby with big fat cheeks and thighs already like a footballer's. It doesn't suit him, poor thing, bobbing up and down with the pink wings flapping round his portly little body, but you have to lob him in it when she comes for tea and hope no one takes a photo to show at his wedding in twenty years' time.

Wooden baby gates.
Damn. We were told we were having an oaken baby - they said the scan was totally reliable - that they could see the hinges on his knees, and everything - so we waste our money on these wooden baby gates to stop him from reaching the kitchen knives, and then what happens? Little Arthur is born, made completely from molten plastic, and now we have to buy different gates. Call the lawyer, Ed.