For me, shopping of almost any sort is a nightmare. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy spending money on certain things, particularly as most of the things I buy operate on a fairly easy one or two clicks and it’s done system.
But when an actual physical shop is involved, I hate it. It winds me up something rotten. Not because of the effort of doing it, but because of every other Tom, Dick and/or Harry that happens to be out shopping. From the ones with a mission who won’t let anyone get in their way to the ones who shouldn’t be allowed out because they need to phone home from every aisle and ask stupid questions about what they’re buying, people are generally a bloody menace.
I have, over the last couple of weeks, successfully managed two supermarket shops to stock up on Christmas-y things which have ended in relatively good spirits. The most recent shop was a bit touch and go as it was much closer to the big day than the last one and, therefore, had a more plentiful supply of arseholes panic buying stuff that they would be able to get on Boxing Day if they were actually that desperate.
Tonight, though, we needed to go and get the fresh stuff – cream and potatoes and veg, that sort of thing – which couldn’t be bought too far in advance because of spoilage. I was, as you can imagine, looking forward to that like a small child looks forward to a Christmas morning where all his presents have been wrapped in barbed wire and dog poo. So, as part of a cunning ruse to get out of it, I have been strategically licking anything that Carole has come into contact with over the last week or so in a bid to contract at least a portion of her available germs. Which I have managed. Huzzah.
So Carole set off to buy the stuff at 9pm.
She returned at gone 11pm.
The list wasn’t even that long. It was basically some salad stuff, some cream and something for tea tomorrow. That was it. And she was gone for two whole hours. And has come back with a new set of plates and bowls for us to use on Christmas Day. And a table runner that matches them. And some socks.
But still. Two hours.
Two long hours.
I’ve never been gladder to be a bit sniffly in all my life!