I am in,
I can’t go out,
until the delivery man has been about.
It is raining out there. I would probably be in anyway.
But it’s somehow worse when you have to stay.
I have run out of cake. I have started to swear. I have a small snotty grump bag who needs some fresh air.
Nope. My mistake, the van outside is not for me.
Waiting. Waiting. One hour. Two hours. Three.
Drum fingers on the table top.
Stop the small man from having a strop.
Put the kettle on. EVEN THO I am not called Polly.
Make coffee. Forget coffee. Microwave coffee. Drink coffee.
Put some washing on.
Take some washing out.
Tock Tick. Time does NOT go quick when you are waiting for the delivery man.
I cannot even make a plan.
I do not know when he is due.
I dare not even go to the loo.
For fear that as I park my bum the doorbell rings.
Another noise gives me hope.
Pull back the curtain. Nope.
Nobody is waiting at the door.
I don’t want to wait anymore.
tick tock. slow clock.
HOORAY! He has been, he has been.
Like a child on Christmas morning I dance with joy.
The parcel is here with Syd’s new toy.
We could go out now, but it looks a bit grim.
Lets open the parcel and stay in.