Weary cashiers, screaming kids, bored husbands and after casing the isles with a shopping trolley wobbly enough to dislocate every bone in the body from the hip down, I find the first item on my shopping list is out of stock. Shape of things to come?
Oh, happy day!
Now, I'm sure I'm not the only one who finds the ordeal at the local supermarket a necessary part of modern living. All I need do is scan the tired faces of the people around me to verify that.
Each one probably wishing they were anywhere else but here.
|I hate shopping!|
There is the harried mother of two trying to manoeuvre her little darlings past the junk food aisle. Brave move, for very soon everyone can hear their protests; high-pitched squeals, loud enough to shatter glass and destroy the collective eardrums of everyone within vocal range. Even the elderly can be seen adjusting their hearing aids.
It gives a totally new understanding as to why some species eat their young!
Then there's clothes shopping. Contrary to what some men think, it is not a woman's favourite past time. Since the deregulation of standard clothing sizes it has become something of a mystical experience. No, not for its spiritual value - although I'm sure for some woman it is - but because it's difficult to know what size you'll end up wearing. It's a mystery.
And for the more sensitive types, it can be daunting, even humiliating. For example, there are some stores that employ only young, willowy-types who seem to take pleasure in deliberately showing a normal, healthy, curvy woman a range of outfits that could only be worn by an anorexic broomstick!
Not many of us can boast a supermodel figure, for whom the majority of clothing labels appear to be designed.
So, I say thank you to online catalogues. I choose what I like, order a few sizes - which I try on in the comfort and privacy of my own home - and send back the rest. No return postage and no snooty shop assistants sniggering on the other side of the change room door.
Maybe I'll try grocery shopping this way. Maybe. I still like picking my own fruit and vege even if it means putting up with long checkout queues and squealing kids.
But, there's always the coffee shop next door with it's cappuccinos and delicious blueberry muffins, where I can sit and flick through my latest fashion catalogue - meant for real women.