Sigh. Useless to explain. For an intelligent man he has a total mental block about the most elementary logic around shopping. These items were ordered them before StopShop. Ipso vero, just because they happened to arrive after doesn't make them part of the StopShop rules. As Einstein put it time is all relative (or was that Dr Who?). QED!
Anyway of course I didn't own up that I have been virtually up at the window whining for these boxes like a pining dog. Nor that knowing that they were on their way has been why I have been able to chuck every tempting 70% reduction sale notice airily into the bin.
So after sliding said boxes to the floor with studied negligence until husband left the room, I waited until he was safely out of earshot, then fell upon them.
A couple of minutes later, when the mushroon cloud of sticky tape, torn cardboard and tissue paper had settled I was in possession of: one pair small stud earrings for daughter (to replace ones bought her for Christmas, one of which leapt out of her ear and down the nearest crack in the floor boards about ten minutes into Christmas morning); similar for myself (ok they were a about the same price as a capuccino); a strangely draped dress (much reduced) - one of the "weekend" dresses referenced in an earlier post and a pair of somewhat surprising shoes.
It was good that these shoes arrived at this early point in my StopShop campaign. I think they were A Sign.
For a start, they had clearly been ordered, probably on my iPhone, at a boring bit in a Christmas film, after several glasses of white wine, in the spirit of there's life in the old dog yet. As Graham Norton would no doubt wisely remark. "Cab here for Mrs Mutton!"
If I say that their main colours are purple, neon orange and silver, I think you will feel more sorrow than disappointment at my lapse in taste.
But truth to tell, they would probably be sitting amongst all the other oddities in my 'It's because no one else wants them they're so cheap" collection, were it not for the fact that by some supernatural intervention by the Stop Shopping Gods, the retailer had sent me the wrong size.
Reader, how proud I would be to tell you all that I simply shrugged my shoulders, patiently packaged them up and trotted down to the post office to return them.
But I did not.
I wriggled, squirmed and jabbed my oversized tootsies into them like one of the Ugly Sisters. I tried them on with thin socks, thinner tights, no socks at all. I hobbled around my bedroom in them like a pig in heels. It was no good. They looked like two garish balloon animals, full of walnuts.
Finally after a protracted conversation whilst the customer service department explained to me that out of stock means literally there are no more shoes, I gave up, patiently packaged them up and trotted down to the post office etc etc.
I felt better almost immediately after I had shown a picture of them to my daughter and she'd stopped laughing.
But the shopping gremlin inside me has planted a seed of a thought that somehow I am owed a pair of shoes. Thank goodness I am out of town for that Manolo Blahnik sale.....
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