Tuesday…
I check the screen between meetings
There couldn't be many left.
I should order right now, time is fleeting,
I could wait but I might be bereft...
Someone's assistant hands me a post-it -
someone else is stuck in traffic -
why do I dither? I've diagnosed it:
final sale worries, poor fit and sad service
are some of the things that are making me nervous
and detached from the targeted demographic.
Corridor, iPhone, click, click, click. They thank me, they're grateful.
They confirm within hours:
Yes, that's the order, it's been released.
but I still don't know if I'll get it.
 |
| source: gizmodo.com |
There couldn't be many left.
I should order right now, time is fleeting,
I could wait but I might be bereft...
Someone's assistant hands me a post-it -
someone else is stuck in traffic -
why do I dither? I've diagnosed it:
final sale worries, poor fit and sad service
are some of the things that are making me nervous
and detached from the targeted demographic.
Corridor, iPhone, click, click, click. They thank me, they're grateful.
They confirm within hours:
Yes, that's the order, it's been released.
but I still don't know if I'll get it.
I seem to have given these folks unknown powers
as if their indifference were somehow fateful.
 |
| source: an email someone sent me |
and know if I love it or if I regret it.
People get the strangest gifts from me:
don't get me wrong, I return the defective,
the mis-sized, the soiled, the broken, the used,
the skirt with a faded streak on the tummy.
But sometimes I have to step back, be objective:
Who would like this? Whose dream am I holding?
Whose sweet little face would with joy be suffused?
Whose fashion sense could I be molding?
That's why baby sisters were invented, of course she'd love a not-quite-flannel shirt!
