I feel cheated by Amazon Prime. Cheated.
Whenever Carole orders something, and she’s not in but I am, it’s always eight stops away at some ungodly hour in the morning, when I’d rather be lying in bed and half-dreaming about things that, even days later, will have me thinking “What the hell was all that about?”
Well, that’s what she tells me, anyway. It’s probably just a ruse to stop me enjoying too much of my day in a horizontal position. One time the package was eight stops away, and currently in Sheffield, so there is some evidence to support that.
But whenever I get stuff delivered, and get up for it because I don’t want to be caught out by a notification that they’re in the next street over and I can’t get trousers on quick enough, it doesn’t arrive until waaaaay into the afternoon.
We’re both using the same delivery service… but she seems to be getting much better luck on the deliveries!
Today I was stuck in a limbo between making a loaf of bread, painting a door and getting this parcel. Each one needed to be dealt with separately so as to prevent cross-contamination. There’s nothing more annoying that getting a delivery just after you’ve plunged your hands into sticky bread dough, and likewise there’s probably few things that can top the annoyance of kneading some paint into the dough, or dough into the paint. Or getting paint on your delivery. Or everything you touch on the way to the delivery.
Usually when I have that many balls in the air, the cosmic gods then provide me with a shift at work (See Monday) which means I have to abandon everything and head into town. I’m surprised, genuinely, that I made it through the day uninterrupted. Although there was one point where I had convinced myself the delivery wouldn’t come until tonight, when Carole was running me into work for a late shift.
Because that’s the way things work, isn’t it?