Evidence that arriving home is not always the pleasant experience you thought it would be
Before I tell you about it, here are some things I would like to have sitting on my doorstep when I arrive home from the shops.
1. A parcel from Amazon, containing books entitled 'Clooneyfy your Husband in Six Easy Steps' and 'Eating Flapjack Mixture Straight from the Pan Without Guilt'.
2. A package from Camelot with a note in it saying, 'Dear Fran, Even though you do not actually take part in the Lottery, we have decided to send you £61 million pounds in cash anyway as you are such a nice person. It is so much money we couldn't get it through the letterbox. Enjoy! (And with your new riches, we are sure that your fifty-fourth letter to George Clooney's agent will result in a meeting.)'
3. A representative from Penguin Books or Faber & Faber waiting for me to get home so that I could sign a contract for a three-book deal worth a six-figure sum. If said representative looked like George Clooney, all the more fun, but I'd take a pig-ugly one if not, as the book deal itself would be cool and one doesn't like to be greedy.
4. A free supply of Ben & Jerry's Rum and Raisin icecream and a DVD set entitled 'Every Film that's Ever Had George Clooney in It' to watch while I'm eating it with a ladle.
|Fran really really wished they would stop putting pictures of fat cows on the tubs|
Anyway, what was ACTUALLY on my doorstep waiting for me when I got home today was ...
A small plastic Elvis figure with one arm missing.
I think, bearing in mind what I'd LIKE to have left on my doorstep, this is what is called 'a let-down'.
I don't quite know how to interpret it. There is something very sinister about it, like the bizarre equivalent of having someone stick pins in a voodoo doll and leave it outside your front door. What does it mean? Have I offended someone?
I am tempted to google 'small plastic Elvis with one arm missing on doorstep' but am worried that it will direct me straight to a website called 'How to Tell When You Have Enemies' or 'Cheap Alternatives to Voodoo Curses.'
I have brought Elvis indoors. I thought it would be safer, because nothing would be more scary than to find that my new enemy had sneaked back in the night, taken off another arm, or his head even, and left him there for me to find tomorrow. It would smack of a progression in the hate campaign, and there's something about a torso on your doorstep, albeit a plastic one, that wouldn't be a great start to the day.
So for the moment Elvis is lying on top of a pile of gardening books which we have on a shelf in the hall.
And I bet I'm the first person ever to have written that sentence.