Christmas shopping with Lytton, a drama in three acts, part two
After I solved the paternal Christmas gift crisis by getting my father a super fancy big wine guide called The World Atlas of Wine (btw, translation fail: the German title of the book translates to The Big Johnson, T and I were snickering away under the wrathful gaze of the salesman), the next project was A Present For Lyttonboy. Believe me, it deserves the capital letters. I went shopping twice and returned empty-handed both times. I considered a Gregory Peck DVD Box (but he's a boy, he downloads things), a copy of either Playboy magazine or the German Time magazine from the year and month of his birth (but really, you read it once and then that's that, so no), a pony (while you can never go wrong with ponies, he might be a bit hesistant to see just how awesome a present it would be), two chinchillas (those were a real option, but then the cage was way too expensive), a book by his favourite author (but Lyttonboy reads so SLOWLY that he hasn't even finished the book I got him last year) and finally, a postcard from the mental institution I will have to be committed to because finding a present was too difficult.
Things were finally looking up when T and I decided to go the Christmas market together (none of us can really go with the respective boyfriends: T's BF develops spontaneous tourette syndrome when shoved into Christmassy crowds and Lyttonboy reverts to a zombie-like state). On the way to the market, we popped into a novelty shop because we saw something pink and vaguely Hello Kitty in the windows and suddenly, there it was: the perfect present.
Now, Lyttonboy likes The Big Lebowski the way I like Ghostbusters, so really, this present was perfect. Only that it wasn't. The shirt in the shop was so wide in the waist that Lyttonboy's father would have fit into in and that man looks like Santa. Lyttonboy doesn't. Under much wailing, I put the shirt back and T and I went to the Christmas market where consolation was found in food.
Back home, I began to search the almighty internet for an online shop that would a) have a shirt as awesome as this one b) deliver it to my place by next Tuesday and c) not charge me an arm and a leg. You will all be pleased to hear that I did indeed manage to find a shop that offers all those things and in fact, they even have a shiny blinking button on their homepage proclaiming loudly "delivery until the 21st of Dec! Order now!"
Naturally, I did just that.
They just send me the following email:
Dear Miss Lytton,
we are happy to confirm your order, but unfortunately, have to tell you that it will be delayed by the extreme weather conditions all over Europe.
Sincere apologies,
T-Shirt Shop that will not deliver when promised
My icon is now mocking me.
Things were finally looking up when T and I decided to go the Christmas market together (none of us can really go with the respective boyfriends: T's BF develops spontaneous tourette syndrome when shoved into Christmassy crowds and Lyttonboy reverts to a zombie-like state). On the way to the market, we popped into a novelty shop because we saw something pink and vaguely Hello Kitty in the windows and suddenly, there it was: the perfect present.
Now, Lyttonboy likes The Big Lebowski the way I like Ghostbusters, so really, this present was perfect. Only that it wasn't. The shirt in the shop was so wide in the waist that Lyttonboy's father would have fit into in and that man looks like Santa. Lyttonboy doesn't. Under much wailing, I put the shirt back and T and I went to the Christmas market where consolation was found in food.
Back home, I began to search the almighty internet for an online shop that would a) have a shirt as awesome as this one b) deliver it to my place by next Tuesday and c) not charge me an arm and a leg. You will all be pleased to hear that I did indeed manage to find a shop that offers all those things and in fact, they even have a shiny blinking button on their homepage proclaiming loudly "delivery until the 21st of Dec! Order now!"
Naturally, I did just that.
They just send me the following email:
Dear Miss Lytton,
we are happy to confirm your order, but unfortunately, have to tell you that it will be delayed by the extreme weather conditions all over Europe.
Sincere apologies,
T-Shirt Shop that will not deliver when promised
My icon is now mocking me.