I’m not sure if I’ve reached out in faith or if I’ve simply begun to mourn. I emailed the seller—not with rage or even frustration, but with something softer. Something that lives between hope and grief. Was it a hopeful communication attempt? Or the first stage of goblin-related loss?
It’s hard to tell. Time moves strangely when you’re emotionally tethered to a tracking number that refuses to update.
The days stretch. The Labubus remain theoretical. But the longing? The longing is very real.
Day 16:
I woke up feeling the weight of probably being ripped off. It’s been 11 days since I ordered my Labubus, and the order status hasn’t changed. Out of desperation, I emailed this morning. I rewrote the message five times, trying not to be dramatic. In the end, I just shared the order number and one quiet question:
Is there an estimated shipping date available?
Day 17:
I’m back in bed, where I made the original order. Lying here with one eye buried in my pillow and one eye on my phone screen. No one has responded. My possible Labubus are in purgatory. Or perhaps I’m in purgatory.
Who knows.
But I poked my head into the Pop Mart app and saw there’s a release today—shipping estimated around August 4. That’s a while. But at least it’s something with a date.
The drop happens at 1900 hours. Today. I don’t know if that’s East Coast or West Coast time… but it’s in twelve minutes or two hours and twelve minutes.
I need to secure a Labubu.
Day 18:
I’m still in bed, much later than I normally would be. I don’t think I slept last night. Let’s be honest—I have sleep challenges. Especially lately.
Are the Labubus haunting my dreams? Hard to say.
I tried to get a Labubu last night for ninety minutes. That’s how long it took from the drop to the last bunny being sold. I was not able to click fast enough to procure a monster.
Day 19:
The Labubus are still marked as “preparing shipment.”
There has been no response to my gentle queries.
I’m adrift at sea in a sailboat with no wind…
Or so I thought.
I briefly considered alternate methods of acquisition. eBay. A summoning circle drawn in glitter glue and resin, powered by emotional instability and one extremely cursed candle.
But before I could make a salt pentagram in the hallway, a friend— a friend who is much more dedicated to the acquisition of rarities than I am— came through.
Two of the Labubus on my list. Secured. No spells required. Too good to be true?
Possibly.
Day 20:
For the first time in days, I feel something like hope. Not relief. Not joy.
But a flicker. A shift.
The guilt is immediate, of course. Is this cheating? Did I skip the lesson the universe was trying to teach me? Have I betrayed the original Labubus, still trapped in the purgatory of “preparing shipment”?
Maybe.
But maybe I also just needed a win.
Day 21:
Still no movement on the two Labubus I ordered, but the friend who is much better at the procurement of pop culture cuteness than I am is coming to town.
We’ll meet somewhere with lots of plants to drink coffee and ooh and ahh over the little creatures as we transfer guardianship of them from him to me.
Maybe not the monsters I started out acquiring, but they are clearly the monsters I am meant to have.
Tomorrow, my creepy little babies. Tomorrow.
Have you ever gotten so attached to a package in transit that it started to feel like a ghost story? Because same…
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