I got home from work to find a small parcel left outside my front door.
It was a magazine.
In a plastic bag.
The cover had a picture of tinsel and gold baubles. And I could see the letters 'stmas'.
My stomach dropped.
My heart sank.
My knees turned into jelly.
I picked the plastic bag, and with great care, using two fingers, I extracted the magazine. Careful, just as to avoid catching some dreadful bug from it.
Yes, it was one of those ordering books that some poor old sales person leaves with you hoping that you will place an order, sign a cheque and return. One of those books that have all the stuff you didn't know you didn't need.
But this one is about 'Christmas'.
My stomach dropped. My heart sank. My knees.... yeah, you got it. All that jazz.
I mean, I don't want to sound rude, inconsiderate, or monstruous in any way, shape or form,
We are half-way through August, for chrissake!
I am still wearing my summer wardrobe, still planning to take annual leave, we are not over the Bank Holiday, schools are not open yet, and you plant a CHRISTMAS brochure on my doorstep?!
What is wrong with you people????
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