"Come on Sir, buy this for the someone special in your life," he beamed, holding out a giant fluffy bear for me to gaze upon.
"There is no-one," I replied. "I am bitter and alone."
"Oh," came his response. His script clearly hadn't prepared him for such an eventuality. But these Marks & Spencers temps are quicker than they look. "Well maybe if you gave this to someone then you would have someone special in your life!"
He had a good point. Maybe this giant fluffy bear would convince a girl to look past my sarcastic tone, serial killer specs and hipster fashion sense and see the warm, caring person that lays hidden inside.
"How much is it?" I asked, moving closer.
"Only eight pounds!" he said triumphantly.
Eight pounds? For the possibility of love?
No, not for me. I could buy myself four coffees for that, and everyone knows that the coffee house is where people like me find their soul mate. I've seen it in films, it happens all the time. The coffee house is a GUARANTEE of love, not just a chance. Hollywood never lies.
So take your bear and your festive spirit and offer them to someone more naive, because your deal has been beaten by logic.
The logic of films and coffee.
The only sort of logic that matters.
