It’s a Saturday and I spent most of it patiently waiting for a parcel to arrive.
“Your delivery will be completed between 12:17 and 17:47”
Those seem strangely specific minute numbers when you are giving a five and a half hour long timeframe, why not just make it twelve until six and be done with it. In any case, it arrived at 17:21, we should say congratulations on being just about within the huge time window I guess.
The delivery driver was cute, I would have been more than happy to accept his package, but was also clearly short on time as he literally ran from van to door and back to van again, no time for flirting at all, which was a little disappointing.
All of the waiting wouldn’t be so bad if it at least contained something exciting for me, but it was a delivery for my son Tom who is staying with us at the moment, after moving back home from England. Was that because of Brexit or coronavirus or because his wife cheated on him, who knows, probably a mix of all three.
I spent the waiting hours of the afternoon baking some pies and drinking some nice rose wine. I spent the after delivery on hold on the phone to the power company to complain, finishing the rose and wondering if I shouldn’t have tried harder to flirt with the delivery driver and his cute bum.
An uneventful day really.