Months and months ago, I met the most beautiful, brown leather jacket in a Massimo Dutti store on Oxford Street. I tried it on. I was enamoured. You know when something just feels right? This was meant to be; I was smitten. It was relatively pricy. Best Friend, who accompanied me on a shopping excursion, advised that the jacket was expensive, but good value in terms of style and quality. I contacted Boyfriend, who remained back home in Dublin. Boyfriend almost gave birth to a litter of kittens on hearing the cost of the jacket. I considered his opinion with the fact there was a global recession. Blatant flashes of cash might be considered distasteful, I thought. Lily Allen’s song “The Fear” also compounded these thoughts. The resultant outcome was that I returned to Dublin empty handed. The jacket remained in my thoughts for weeks after, torturing me. After weeks of mental anguish, I decided I would get the jacket as a birthday present or an end of exam treat. I was so excited.
The day before my birthday, the day of the robbery, I visited Dundrum (as excited as school girl) to buy my brown leather jacket in Massimo Dutti. The sales assistant, who really didn’t give a shit, told me it was out of stock. The manager then informed me he would personally bring one over from the UK. He told me he would call me when the jacket was in store. Two weeks passed and no one called me. I called them. Apparently, the manager was still out of the country. A month passed and still no one called me. I was getting rather impatient at this stage. By now I had made three phone calls. I called last Saturday and was informed someone would call me tomorrow, Sunday. I called on Sunday; the manager would ring me on Monday morning. He never did. I eventually spoke to the manager (after yet another phone call). Finally, I received closure. He didn’t have the jacket and couldn’t locate one. That jacket would have looked fetching with the restraining order the store manager is likely to issue me.
Today, I have Googled the shit out of the product code of the jacket to source some kind of alternate, online, leather jacket distributor. Unsurprisingly, I have had no success. I am now angry with everyone. I am annoyed at Boyfriend for putting doubt in my mind back when I originally wanted to purchase the jacket on Oxford Street. I am pissed off at all the people who bought the jacket in the Dundrum store before I secured mine. The manager of the Massimo Dutti store also vexes me. Why did he have to make unrealistic promises to “personally, locate a jacket and bring it from the UK for me”? He is such a spa for doing that. But don’t you worry, I will have my revenge. I will locate that jacket. I will leave no stone unturned. I will spend the money despite Boyfriend’s protests. I will lose weight and accessorise the hell out of the jacket to guarantee I look better than all the other owners of the same garment. Finally, I will wreak havoc on the Massimo Dutti store manager. When I do get my jacket, I will spend many an evening in Dundrum and parade up and down outside the shop and shout, “how do you like me now?” I’ll show him.