Sexual stereotyping

Much as it pains me to say it - I think I have been conforming to a perceived sexual stereotype lately. The work on the sitting room fireplace is progressing (steadily - not fast) and should be finished by Christmas. While I am present for discussions on stonework, plaster, chimneys and flues etc, I know that I don't have strong opinions on what's behind the whole look. As long as it's sound and won't need touching for the next fifty years or so, I'm happy. But while I maybe can't visualise what is going on in the chimney, I can visualise how the room will look when the builder has left and dust finally swept away. It will be warm and cosy, with comfy chairs and no clutter. Thick dark red curtains will shut out the wind and rain and strategically placed lamps will light up the pictures and few pieces of china we've brought back in. But in my mind it's not the existing chairs and settees. Over the years we've acquired a fair few chairs and own four settees and six armchairs of various degrees of comfort. And the comfiest are not always the best looking (no disrespect to my late mother - but the washed out terracotta colour was a definite mistake). And now I've seen a sofa on EBay that is just meant to be in our sitting room. The deadline is looming and it's near enough to pick up. I can just see it in the sitting room. If we get rid of the uncomfiest settee (a low backed Chesterfield that you can't fall asleep on), it might squeeze in. Or so I thought. Maybe spatial awareness is male thing, as when we got out the tape measure it proved (almost conclusively) that it's too big. The sticking point seems to be the piano. When I got married I wanted three things I never had as a child - a dog, a real Christmas tree and a piano. We don't have a dog now, but still have the other two. I bought the piano for 50p at an auction in 1970 and I'm loathe to let it go. What we need is an extension.