Dear Hema,
It was quiet for a while, but suddenly you're back in the news. They're talking about your new owner Marcel Boekhoorn, your 800 million euro debt, your new relationship with Jumbo City, and whether you're on the brink of death. I don't understand it. Give me one woman, or else a man, who has never bought anything from you. I myself make a round at your place every week, even though I don't need anything. I asked my best friend, when he had just lived a year in Dubai, what he missed the most. Of course, I hoped he would mention my name, but he mentioned your name. HEMA, because he missed your shirts and your socks, and where else do you actually buy your towels? Valid questions, I think. Because what would we do without you? And what would we do without...
Your smoked sausage.
Your hot dog with sauce.
Your tompouce.
Your large cotton pads.
Your seamless tops.
Your socks.
Your notebooks.
Your duvet covers.
Your vegan apple pie (says Kiki, but I find this a bit far-fetched myself).
Your photo frames.
Your wrapping paper, gift bags, and your trinkets and ribbons.
Your washi tape.
Your baby bodysuits (I have this from a reliable source).
Your extra long white T-shirts for men.
Your binders and tabs.
Your Christmas garlands.
Everything I don't know where else to get it.
With 800 million euros in debt, gulp, the future doesn't look so bright for you, but your new godfather is doing everything he can to save you, they say. I think I'll go shopping at your place this weekend, because we need to support each other in tough times. I foresee a campaign: buy your Christmas at HEMA. We can just continue together in 2020.
Love!
