Supermarketting

Today was well, different. Because I got to do housewife chores. I didn't sweep, clean, or do laundry. None of the sort. But I had to brave it to the supermarket because I had to, Mister couldn't make it, and we were heading for the fairy tale story, where a little girl peeps into the cupboard and it's all bare. That bad. I didn't bank on the trip making me so miserable. First you have to park your car, then try and find 1Euro to shove into the trolley because somebody thinks that if the public gets to put the euro into the trolley then they will take the extra trouble to put it in it's previous place to get the euro. I couldn't care less, so disgruntled was I. One Euro would never make me do that, in fact I really wanted to abandon the damn trolley in the sweltering sun. But since people were looking, well, you know. Anyway I somehow made it in safely, loaded my trolley with Diet Coke, all the while getting very strange looks. What's wrong with Diet Coke? Nothing, I just hate supermarkets so much that I really load my trolley with Diet Coke with the plan that getting a lot of it will at least save me another trip to the damn place. So I'm in, suddenly a mother looking like a granny swipes the smile off a little boy's face with a nice slap. Poor boy, of course he wanted his sweets. Who wouldn't? I wanted them too but I got scared that I would be getting slapped by this woman. So, no sweets. Until I turned a corner and the mummy looking like a granny was out of site, so I could push my favourite chocolates in the small space in my trolley. Next thing I go on a guilt trip, I see a perfect, perfect blond physique on two long pins, all made up, in heels wheeling a trolley as if it were the most natural thing to do. How do they do it, I was a mess, so hot, a heavy trolley... that's no place for heels. But some women can actually do it. I cannot. And I saw something new. Men, on their own, pushing empty trolleys. Strange, they were also eyeing the ladies. Have supermarkets become the new dating agency or what? The ladies seemed to take the cue, so many were battering eyelashes that would put Max Factor to shame. Pathetic. Or not. I was still interested only in getting out of there, as fast as possible. I have an aversion to these places, and changing venues still doesn't change anything. No wonder the deodorant department was almost sold out, some people reeked of onion, oh God. But the razor department was very well stocked up, probably the reason why so many women had hairy armpits. Next time... there won't be a next time. I'm out of there for good, even if I have to starve.