On being asked to review the t-shirt I had ordered recently:
The t-shirt was excellent. Emphasis on the past tense: "was".
It was a cold, grey winter morning. Morning had nearly turned into noon and there was still no sign of the sun. I was in my deep slumber, owed equally to the toiling night before and the blanket that had wrapped itself around me so cozily, that if it hadn't been for my mother, there was a real chance of me settling in there forever.
My dear mother. Short, sweet, and deeply religious. Her first order of business every morning, without fail, is to march up to my bedroom window and pull open the blinds. She says morning light is good for you. Me, having slept at 5AM, would beg to differ. I suspect she just likes to watch her car parked, that she bought with her own money, in all its glory every morning.
Alas, I do not question her. I sleep, for it's a losing battle.
Her second order of business is to sweep my room for suspicious boxes of pizza ordered late night. I learnt long before where to hide them. She can't find them anymore. Interestingly, the pizza boxes don't anger her, it's the joy of catching me that keeps her going. She's sweet like that.
On that fine winter morning as well, she did not find any pizza boxes to throw away. But she did notice the "empty" cardboard box, the one my shoes had came in 5 days ago. The evening before, upon trying out the new tee, and loving it. I decided to neatly fold it back into its original packaging, and tossed the fully packed parcel into the box. It made sense. Please don't ask why.
You may see where this is going...
Yes. It happened exactly like that.
Out with the "empty" box.
She did genuinely feel guilty after hearing what had actually happened.
What a huge waste of money, she said. Me ofcourse, not the t-shirt.
The t-shirt was excellent.