Beserk for Presents

Once upon a time, many months ago, around about Mothers Day 2015 to be precise, I was gifted a gorgeous pair of shoes.

It was a present from my family, in appreciation of all my Motheriness, and becuase it is a revoltingly commercialised concept that sucks people in to buy stuff to show their mums that they care.

That she’d actually love it if they did what they were asked before she went on some kind of fishwifey screaming rant in order to be heard is not the point. It, obviously, is not in the spirit of Mothers Day.

Basically, I’ll take what I can bloody get when I can get it.

I did the right thing; I seconded the child who would be most likely to ensure that I was presented with something I actually wanted. I sent him pictures via Facebook, was berated for linking him in posts and sending him images publicly, asked to remove them and could I “please message him privately or send him an email”.

I did that as well. The private messaging and emailing, not the removing of tags and photos. I wanted all bases covered, and didn’t want another iron or sewing machine; an item they were threatening/teasing about getting me.

And there it was, on Mothers Day morn, beautifully wrapped in Christmas paper. A box comtaining a gorgeous pair of shoes that I coveted.

I kicked off my slippers, and donned the glamorous footwear immediately. I went for a walk around the house.

Damnit, they were a little big. It was then I noticed the “8” on the box. And on the sole of the shoe.

I had been explicitly clear about the sevenishness of my feet.

Interogating the Biggest Child, he of the appropriate gift giving, and ability to purchase just the right thing, and whom had taken over because he knew his dad would fuck it up somehow, I learnt that they were all out of sevens, and he wanted me to have something, so he got me the eights.

Which was lovely of him, but then I had a pair of really lovely shoes that I couldn’t wear.

Grumpy Pants basically gave up on the whole thing about that point, and forwarded me the emails he’d received when Monkey Boy had placed the order, online.

Mothers Day was over, it seemed, and it was no longer his problem.

So, I emailed the seller, the wonderful Beserk, whom my fabulous friends had introduced me to. They were just as heartbroken as I that the wrong size had been ordered, and were nothing but helpful in terms of my returning the shoes for an exchange.

Alas, they were still out of size 7, and were not expecting a shipment for some time. What would I like to do?

Other than cry into my vodka about the terribleness of the situation of course?

Just the other day, a shoe box sized parcel arrived, addressed to my beloved husband.

I took a peak at the return address, and, oh joy! It appeared to be my replacement shoes.

I did make the right overtures and enquiries, for I am not one to open someone else’s mail without first checking with them, and was met with so much apathy I almost broke my nose when I walked into it.

So I ripped apart the postage bag, and there they were.

My lovley new shoes, four months later than intended, but now in my hands.

Or on my feet. Pretty much as soon as I whipped them out of the box.

I paraded around the house in them, even though they did not go terribly well with my pink, cow adorned, flannelette pyjama pants. I did not care!

Although I tried to stop myself, I couldn’t help but point out a serious oversight on behalf of Grumpy Pants and Monkey Boy.

You see, it’s my birthday in a little under two weeks. Here they had the perfect gift for me, and I’m actually quite surprised they didn’t squirrel it away and give it to me then.

They must be slipping. It’s not the first time they’ve intercepted my own mail, stashed it away and given it to me as Mothers Day/Birthday/Christmas present and thought they were really awesome for getting me what I wanted.

It does make me wonder what I will be getting for my birthday, but perhaps I’ll just enjoy the moment with this new pair of lovelies, and be disappointed when the time comes.

Huge thanks, also, to the wonderful team at Beserk for being, well, simply wonderful. Thank you x

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