A woman calls up to order shit from the OverpricedShit Christmas catalogue.
‘I’d like to order the rocking horse for my niece,’ she says.
Inputting the code I see they aren’t in stock.
‘They won’t be in stock until the 11th of November,’ I tell her.
‘Oh no,’ she cries out, as if I’ve just told her she has vagina cancer.
‘Don’t you think it’s leaving it a bit late? I’ll be so disappointed if it isn’t here for Christmas,’ she shrieks.
I’m astonished at her petulance and start wondering whether the horse is for her or the fucking kid.
