Purple Cow

I call my mum to ask her about the perfume. I know she likes it and it was on sale and her bottle was near the end a few months ago. So, what if she bought another one? That's why I called her.
- Mum, I bought a new bottle of Kenzo flowers for ya. Do you still use Kenzo? Did you buy a new one since last time we spoke about it?
- Oh! Yes! My bottle is near the end!! Oh! Yes! I still use it! But... no... don't worry about me. Don't need to send me anything.
My blood boils, what should I say to this? What? Should I stick her present in my ass? Should I give it to someone in need? Who's in need of a fancy perfume? Should I send it to Africa?
I decide to be honest and ask her what I should do with it since I bought it already. I hear the echo of my own voice due to the distance. My own voice irritates me, don't know why. It's less confident than the one I hear inside my head. It's less melodic than the one I record every so often in my home studio. I'm talking to my mum, that's it. It reminds me of a poem I read in the Robert Anton Wilson's The Illuminatus! Trilogy, written by Gelett Burgess:

I never saw a purple cow
I never hope to see one
But I'll tell you this anyhow:
I'd rather see than be one