The Parcel

1795 Words8 Pages
“Bloody door bell!” I lift my head and look irritably towards the front door. Not that I can see the front door from where I’m sitting. The response is an automatic one. “I’m never going to get this finished,” I grumble. I stare at the screen, do a quick word count, 500 words. I need 5000 before I can submit the piece. I’ve got to get it finished, those bills on the side won’t pay themselves. It’s going to be one of those days, I just know it. Started off at breakfast, the milk was off, I burnt my mouth on the black coffee - that was the only option - I didn’t fancy finishing off the bottle of wine. Anyway 10 am is to early even for me to have a drinky poohs. To top it off I put my foot in the dogs water bowl and had to spend half an hour cleaning the kitchen floor. You see when I mopped up the spilt water it left a sparkling clean circle, on what I thought was an already clean floor. It’s eleven o’clock now and I’ve only just started writing. I’m sitting and listening now. Someone’s still shuffling about outside. I hope it’s not Doris. I know she‘s got stamina and won‘t go away until either I answer the door or her stomach starts groaning to be fed. If you open the door before her stomach starts, you’ve had it. Once you let her in you can’t get rid of her, not until all the biscuits are gone. I’ve got chocolate biscuits and I don’t want to share. If I’m quiet maybe whoever it is will go away. I turn back to the computer and continue typing. But curiosity is starting to get the better of me. I tilt the chair onto its back legs and try to look around the door frame, with out actually moving from the desk. The door bell rings again. The chair over balances and I land in a heap on the floor. A couple of bruises later, I stand... ... middle of paper ... .... He had a funny turn not so long ago; he was out in the garden mowing his lawn. Her, from the other side was sunbathing. I can tell you now, it wasn’t the sun that was making him sweat. Right back to Mrs Snooty britches. Have you ever wished you could be a fly on the wall? At this moment in time, I certainly wish I could be. She might be surprised and embarrassed, having come home to find that parcel, so beautifully advertising its origins, sitting on her doorstep. But she’s in for an even bigger surprise when she realises her naughty secrets really got out. You see, I’ve added a little note to the bottom of her invoice. It reads… ‘I really don‘t think this is going to fit you. The colours not a bit flattering and it’s really not right for a woman of your age. Would you like me to lend you the top you commented on the other day? All my Love Elsie.’
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