OK, laptop back to full strength and a continuation from where I left off yesterday. This is the part with extra grumpiness....
I reached up and took a 'Barbie - A fashion fairytale' from the shelf. Chosen partly because she was a brunette, and partly because a wave of sympathy overcame me when I realised she obviously wasn't too popular, there were many of her cloned sisters left on the shelf. This unfeasibly long-necked Barbie also had five quid off. Win-win!
Toys in hand, I walked nonchalantly, as only a man with a new found doll expertise can, towards the checkout and plonked them on the checkout desk in front of a dour-faced teenage girl whom I called Mandy. There is a reason for this particular name but that's a story for another day. She sat there as if she was actually auditioning for a comedy show about dour-faced checkout assistants and I could feel this wasn't going to be a pleasant experience.
She scanned them, "£39.98 please" she muttered and I reluctantly handed her two, crisp £20 pound notes. I should have actually lied at this point and written £60 because that would have looked rather impressive when my friends read this, because as well as being known as a mite grumpy at times, I'm also as tight as a ducks arse. I digress.
That's it! I'm done. My pulse began to fall to towards normal and I could feel serotonin begin to flood from my brain.
Hang on. What if little angel or gross monster boy already have these gifts? The serotonin instantly evaporated.
"Can I exchange these if I need to please?" I asked. Mandy looked up at me with obvious disdain.
"Keep your receipt and you can exchange them," before adding sarcastically, "but not till after Christmas."
I don't think she heard me mutter, "obviously" under my breath. "But what if I need to exchange them both? I only have one receipt."
"Well, you paid for them together. I could void it and start again but I'd need to call my supervisor and she's at lunch."
There was definite venom in her voice and her eyes were visibly rolling as she spoke.
Despite my chest beginning to heave and my nostrils obviously flaring, I still had the presence of mind to think about the situation. "Thank you," I managed to squeeze out through pursed lips. I turned and began to leave.
"Have a nice Christmas." This time, I definitely sensed a note of victory in her voice.
I paused just for a second, and in what was a very restrained, controlled manner and entirely out of character for me, the words; "fuck off you dour-faced muppet" didn't quite leave my mouth and my pace quickened as I headed to the exit.
"Your change. 2p". I kept moving, my face crimson and at the door, the security man held up his hand.
"Receipt please Sir".
"Bog off." And suddenly I was back in the car park, gulping in the cool afternoon air.
Gross Monster Boy ended up in bed with a bacterial infection a few days after Christmas. Not my fault. His Mum should have given him rubber gloves to wear if he was doing some toilet magic although I did feel a little guilt and wondered whether I should have bought him some bleach and toilet duck as an additional gift. The thought didn't last long, I mean come on, I'd spent £20 quid on him already.
Little angel loved 'Maria Alicia-Tan' as I discovered her name was from the box. Oddly I'd thought of her more as Russian rather than a strange Latina, Asian fusion but that's OK. I was also consoled by the fact that if she didn't like the doll, Little angel could learn to say 'not for children under 3' in any one of the 9 languages the box was printed in although very strangely, not Indonesian which is where 'Marie-Alicia TM' was born.
I'm almost sure those Indonesian workers, even if they celebrated Christmas would ever be able to afford to buy one of these dolls for their own kids which made me a little sad. If any of our Indonesian friends on Steemit read this and work in the Mattel factory, my advice is to nick one for your kid. They'll never notice.
To my Mussie, Hindu and Buddhist friends out there, say an extra prayer this week and thank your god that you don't celebrate Christmas. Trust me. It's hell!
Marie-Alicia Tan...with her unfeasibly long neck
