Sorry for being late today, I was busy chopping vegetables for dinner with my frozen nipples. Before getting into graphic details, let me tell you how this day started out. In fact, let's start with last evening when I was browsing through Amazon and adding items into my cart.
That happens to be one of my favourite activities by the way. It doesn't matter who I'm shopping for, but reading, researching, finding, and adding items to my Amazon cart gives me almost the same kind of high that sniffing new books at a bookstore does. Just the other day, Superdrug flashed an ad at me for a new Loreal mascara that's out in the market and as soon as I was done reading up all about it, I clicked out of the Superdrug website and hopped over to Amazon where I even bagged a discount.
But yesterday, Amazon.com was giving me trouble. Usually, I can purchase all add-on items if I reach the £20 limit but this time, I was told that I had to reach the limit with items "sold by Amazon" only. Or maybe it was always that way and I never noticed. Anyway, the main item that I was shopping for cost almost £20 but was not "sold by Amazon". Which meant that in order to buy my add-on item which was also something that I desperately needed, I'd have to spend double the amount I'd initially signed up for. And THAT is where my stingy Mallu readers will join me in saying that we don't like this kind of shit. ARE YOU TRYING TO STEAL MY MONEY, AMAZON? My father wants to know.
The next phase was more research. I wanted to try and find the same item but this time such that it was "sold by Amazon". But for some reason, the search bar stopped working. Being married to a software developer at Amazon has given me enough insight to understand that what I was witnessing was probably a Sev 1 issue. I immediately called him up at work and asked him to fucking fix it already.
"But..that has nothing to do with me. That's not the team I work with" was the response as usual. I say "as usual" because this is what happens every time. I thought it was going to be very convenient living with an engineer who works at Amazon because I can go to him directly when I don't get what I want. The other day when I was sending a gift to my newborn nephew, I realised after placing the order that I'd forgotten to gift-wrap it. Not that the baby would know the difference or hold a grudge for 10 years but you never know. That baby could have turned out just like me.
But when I called Shane up at work and asked him to tell the people who ship stuff to India that they had to gift-wrap my most recent order, he repeated that exact same line to me before sighing and doing it manually on the website. I mean...ASK AMAZON TO FIX ME A SANDWICH, SHAAAANE! How hard can it be? And while you're at it, tell them we're out of toilet paper.
Anyway, because something was broken on their website for a while and I didn't have the patience to go back and check later that evening, I set aside time from my day today to go out and buy all those things from actual stores after lunch with Shane. Except, I got sprayed by what can only be described as the exact opposite of the fiery molten core of the earth. The boiler at 22 Nelson Street is broken...AGAIN. Hence, nipples that can chop sweet potatoes for dinner. I rolled my eyes so hard right now that my pupil got stuck at the back of my eyeball and all I could see for a while were the sparks and fumes coming out of my brain. At some level, I know that an inevitable crash and burn is coming. Not just with regards to me, but also concerning the boiler. Spotify warned me that this would happen through their ads about all the British homes that were going to have broken boilers this winter. I wonder how they figured it out.
So turns out, that instead of stepping out of the house for lunch, I'm going to be turning knobs that break my wee little fingers all day. I'm going to be cursing at the inanimate thing in my closet that gets worse mood swings than I do, more often than I do. I'm going to be layering up and waiting for Shane to get home because my tiny fingers always fail at turning those knobs. I'm going to be drafting a nice long email to our property developers and throw in a bunch of colourful adjectives next to the word "boiler". And I'm going to able to shower only once Shane gets home.
Looks like I might as well go back and check if the search bar on amazon.com started working today. If that too fails, I'm gonna have to call Shane up at work again and get him to ask Amazon TO FIX MAMMA A DRINK.