Dear Mr Department store,
I came in today, headed straight for the nursery department. I’m an expectant mum you see. He’s due home any day now but, you didn’t see me. I don’t have a bump. I can’t have a bump so I guess my profile doesn’t quite fit into the ‘how to nab the perfect sale‘ manual.
I was hoping to buy a keepsake. Something for him to treasure. He’s coming hime at twenty one months, all your record books are from birth. First curl, first tooth. I could stick two of your footprint sets together to cater for the ‘larger toddler foot’ I suppose.
I wanted to buy my pram, your shop assistant was lovely . Had that quintessential sales smile, very chatty. Asked me; “When’s the mother due . . . ?”
I’ve waited five years for this moment. Had Dr Chandurum rummaging around my lady insides, two womb scrapes (yep, does exactly what is says on the tin) and social workers (rightfully) nosing through my private life and you’ve got sod all for me to buy.
I felt like shit. Had a little cry. Took myself to Krispy Kreme. Treated myself to a pink, iced doughnut and a soya, decaf latte (Extra hot). Cost me £2.45, I really hope you miss your sales target by that amount this week.
I would fucking love that.