Supermarkets

I have just been wasting my Saturday morning; shopping. I love shopping, but I've just shopped at a place I hate; the supermarket. It's usually the Mister's job, but since we were passing by and since he smilingly asked that I accompany him, I didn't have the heart to refuse. Supermarkets are the world's ugliest place for shopping. For one thing, they are places where people shop for their needs, and not their wants. That is a killjoy enough. I like shopping for what I want and not for what I need. Secondly supermarkets are divided into sections none of which make me at all excited. While I see other women picking up things, putting them down, picking them up again and putting them down again as if they were diamonds, I really wonder what the awe is all about. Why do women have to smell all the detergents on show, why are they so excited by fabric conditioner, it's not as if it's going to smell anything like D & G is it? Am I really about to wash my delicate white skin with something off a bland white supermarket shelf? And they're all so sickly stacked that it's as if they're staring at me in the face and giving me the finger because at least they found a shelf to hold them, while I have not even been lucky enough to find a shelf my own size. They're like weltering soldiers in the army called offensively rude. And how the hell do people even go close to onions, cabbage, apples? They actually touch the dirty stuff. I can never picture myself doing the same. My lovingly manicured nails touching something so filthy. Oh dear, that's one big no. And what about the queue at the delicatessen? Why do they call it delicatessen anyway? The word makes me think of delicate lace and pearls and satin and velvet and cashmere and fur, a far cry from the cheese, ham, sausage, beans, garlic this and garlic that. And people are actually ready to queue up for stinky things like these? Waiting in a file just for that? Then there's the freezers. So cold that I'm sure one look down them can make you actually catch the cold and get a cold. And so manufacturers really think I'm actually going on deodorising my underarms by something bought out of a supermarket? Or that I am about to put on my face something labelled a face mask but which looks like mud? Hand cream and wait for it, the most offensive of the lot... Vaseline which has now such notorious connotations that it's suddenly being called petroleum jelly and on which jar (it's always in a jar isn't it?) it says that it's a terrific make-up remover. I'd like to know where the woman who actually smears Vaseline on her face lives, just so I can behead her for safety standards. Where have our standards gone to girls? Mine have not gone down the supermarket lane, they never will, because the hatred I have for places like these turn me into a monster. And I guess the ones who love supermarket shopping because they're insane will be lurking on my blog and think that I'm one spoilt brat. And I probably am. A very special spoilt brat who will hate supermarkets till my time in this world is up. One thing in men's favour though, supermarkets are becoming the new place for pulling pick ups. So many women in there, so little men. Perhaps that is another reason why they're open from 7 till 7.