"Dear Sir,
This order has been placed with us but the credit card, which is registered to your address, has come up with a red light*. Can you please contact your bank.
Thanks, Jane"
How sweet.
Now being as I'm nosy, and it was my sodding credit card, I went onto their website to find out what the stylish Burglaring Wank-Ferret about town is wearing this season. In full Sherlock Holmes mode** I can tell you that the perpetrator is a man whose flat is worth £84,000 to £91,500 on the open market. He has a 16 inch collar size and a thing for violently-coloured stripy shirts.
For during the day, when he's out doing deals with other people's money the Larcenous Jobbie-Warden favours the Town Shirt:
But he cuts loose when the office closes, and he's had a chance to nick things from everyone's desks, then the Pilfering Fuck-Badger dons a natty little short-sleeve number in various shades of 'Dear God No'.
His piece de resistance though is this delightful little number. Yes, you may think it's a checked shirt, but it is in fact stripy from both directions.
I don't know which offends me more, the fact that he's used my credit card, or that he's used it to buy clothes I wouldn't be seen dead in.
* Presumably as a warning, not some sort of nod to the kind of district where ladies of negotiable favours ply their trade.
** Only without the pipe, silly hat, violin, and addiction to opiates.