Right yeah? So i was really nervous when I went to bed at 1:27 last night, for I was drunk and tired and had been warned of a delivery between 7:05 and 11:05. I calculated, using some of the best maths I’ve ever learnt, personal opinion, that there was approximately a 20% - 49% chance I’d still be in bed when it arrived. I’m far too lazy to bother with my dressing gown on most occasions, i prefer to head straight towards the clothed section of the day, but at 1:27 last night I proved to myself that by leaving it on the floor by the bed, I’d have the best chance of making it to the door without appearing to the viewing eye to be naked. This level of detail to what I’ve got to tell you might seem a little dull, but in actual fact it’s not really relevant, suffice to say, when I got up at 8:57 to make smoothies, the delivery was yet to arrive.
I’ve started getting migraines lately, which is a shame, as I’d never got them before.
I spent what seemed like the next two hours and 42 minutes sat keenly on the sofa by the door, waiting for the delivery. Oh boy! did I increasingly need the toilet over that time. At one point I went to get a cuddle from that gnome, in the hope that it might tempt the delivery into arriving and because she’s the best cuddler, but even that didn’t help. Finally at 11:39, my delivery arrived. I could tell you about how this delivery had apparently been successfully made 25 days ago, but hadn’t, but I’m not going to do that, choosing instead to skip to 5 minutes down the line when just like a bus, there was another loud knock at the door.
You might remember my mention of a certain increasing discomfort. Safely in possession of my delivery, I didn’t in a million moments consider someone else would wish for me to open the front door. I shouted in vain for that gnome to answer the door, but that was impossible, for she was writhing around naked on the bed upstairs, instead I rushed proceedings, and ran to the door, to see a nosy peery old lad attempting to peer through the frosted windows. I’m sure, having got this far you’ll continue reading to find out that he was trying to sell off memory foam mattresses, apparently for £200 instead of £1200, or “80% off”, as some shop was going into liquidation.
I was furious, let me tell you, and in doing so repeat myself, I was furious. No, Mr Nosy Peery Old Lad, I do not want to spend a poorly calculated amount of money on a memory foam mattress, can’t you see I’m the type of person with a skill for perspiring? There’s no way a memory foam mattress is right for me. It would be heading straight from liquidation to liquid nation. Moreover, don’t you remember we bought a mattress from Ikea back in January? Furthermore, you’ve caused what I’d feared would happen, but had managed to avoid happening, to happen. You’re a dreadful man. Just dreadful. He took this news very well, and noticing I’d left an old car battery out the front, asked if it needed to go to the tip as his driver, who was taking away old mattresses from anyone who wanted to buy a new mattress from him, could take it for me. Saved me a trip to the tip, that old lad did. What a nice man.
