"I didn't think the plastic would be clear," I muttered. "That just makes it creepy."
The delivery man shook his head: "Just sign here."
I was standing on the stoop in my bathrobe, the wind snapping it against my bare feet. I snapped off a signature.
"Also, they're a lot larger than I imagined." I'd thought maybe they would fit over the TV nook, but now that I was looking at them, no way.
"Life size," the delivery guy nodded. "That's the only size they come in."
As he turned and headed back to his van, I poked at the figures with my toe. The plastic was cold to the touch. I leaned down to study the figures more closely. I'd asked for American, but these were clearly made in China.
And - they weren't moving. I slapped one just to make sure. Nothing, no response.
There were no air holes. They'd forgotten to make air holes.
The driver had closed the door and was starting the engine. I had to hightail it over the road to him, feet slapping on cold asphalt. I banged on his window. He scowled and lowered it.
"They're dead," I hissed, pointing back to my porch.
"You signed for 'em. They're yours." He started to wind the window up again.
"But what am I supposed to do with them?"
"Well, I want a refund."
He shook his head. "Sorry man, no return for perishable goods."
And he gunned the engine and was gone.
I stalked back to my house and looked at them, slumped over my brand-new decking. It was my fault I suppose. I really shouldn't have selected the gift wrap option.