I am in my kitchen making a cup of tea when I see an attractive man in his thirties approach my doorstep carrying a parcel. This doesn't happen very often. (That's the attractive man knocking on the door - the parcels come a lot. In fact, Amazon would probably go into receivership without my custom.)
I open my front door and take a closer look at my visitor. I decide he has modelled his appearance on George Clooney's semi-bearded look. This is pleasing to the eye but doesn't quite have the same impact as Gorgeous George is a six-footer and the delivery man is like Tom Cruise in stature. Somewhere six inches has gone missing.
Still, I'm not one to complain about six inches.
So I smile as he breaks into conversation.
"Would you mind taking in this parcel for your neighbour?"
"Sure." I reply.
The man hands over one of those electronic signature devices where I am supposed to sign for receipt of delivery. For a moment I am perplexed as there is no stylus or pen and I wonder how this device works and then (being super intelligent) I realize I am supposed to sign using...my finger.
I raise my finger and strategically place it on the screen and attempt to sign my name.
Nothing happens.
I try again. Nothing happens. The screen is blank.
I am perplexed.
I raise my finger and study it. (Yes - I can't believe I did that either.)
What has happened to my finger? It's not working! Why is my magic finger not working? Have I lost my touch? Oh. My. God. My finger is broken!
The deliver man sighs. "You're supposed to use your finger not your fingernail."
"Ah."
I quickly sign my name with as much flourish as possible.
J a n e
The delivery man hands over the parcel.
"Bring back pens," I say and close the door.
