Such was the case the day a couple of weeks ago when I went to my mailbox and found a package I couldn't identify. Where had it come from? Was it a present? As I inventoried my online purchases and expected deliveries, I got nothing.
The return address meant nothing.@
I shook it and it didn't sound like yarn, perfume or tomato planters.%
Finally, I opened it.
[SUMMARY: Your dear ol' AntiM can be a little slow.]
Sweethearts. Special, limited edition, stupid sparkly vampire conversation hearts.
Lucky for me, I got my series of three collectible boxes of special, limited edition, stupid sparkly vampire conversation hearts PLUS an additional box of special, limited edition, stupid sparkly vampire conversation hearts to deconstruct for blog purposes while still maintaining the collectible resale value‡ of the full set of special, limited edition, stupid sparkly vampire conversation hearts.
So box one features stupid sparkly Edward and his lamb,§ along with the whole vampire tribe and some dramatic lighting.
The back of the box not only maps out the special, limited edition flavours¶...
...it has some Twilight Fun Facts for your dining entertainment.
[SUMMARY: It's like a festival of stupid sparkly.]
One might think from the box that:
- There are three in a series.
- There is something to scratch and sniff.
- Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.
- There are special, limited edition, stupid sparkly vampire conversation hearts that actually sparkle.
For those of you scoring at home:
- Sort of.#
- Filthy liars.
[SUMMARY: Disappointment runs rampant.]
I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but I was actually kind of jazzed about special, limited edition stupid sparkly vampire conversation hearths that actually sparkle.
Not only are there no special, limited edition stupid sparkly vampire conversation hearths that actually sparkle, check out the shoddy workmanship on the standard, chalky non-sparkly conversation hearts:
More often than not the words trail off the side, bleed off the top or were apparently left behind on the conveyor belt on which they were decorated.
[SUMMARY: Quality Control at the New England Candy Company must be on vacation.]
Now, what in the hell am I going to do with three unopened boxes of substandard sparkly stupidity?
And how much do you suppose I paid for it?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I always call myself "Self."
@FOOTNOTE (atted): I would be remiss (almost was) if I didn't mention that the Amazon seller's name was "Robert Pattison's Mom." And least I *hope* it was her Amazon seller's name and not a thinly-veiled cry for help.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Pretty much the scope of my home delivery world. Except the occasional present from Nintendo, and you know I do the same thing with those boxes.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): What other possible reason could I have had for buying something repugnant just because, apparently, it was numbered and limited edition?
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I'm proud to say I no longer remember her name. I'm ashamed to admit I remember his. He's probably more my type.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The passionfruit is actually quite tasty.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): It looked different from the rest of the box, it felt different from the rest of the box, but when I rubbed it (and later scratched the bejebus out of it), it didn't smell different from the rest of the box.
NOTE: For those of you who checked in earlier, I somehow left the last footnote off the original post. Perhaps my brain was trying to save me the embarrassment of admitting how base my thought process really is.
††FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): For some reason the taste of forbidden fruit ramble finished out in my head with, "...if you blow a married man." You don't find a lot of saints with brains as lascivious as mine.