Sunday, July 06, 2008

Shopping? (cringe!)

The dictionary defines Chores as a hard or unpleasant task. Shopping for me is a Chore (with a capital C). On my one free day –Sunday, mum decides to drag me shopping at the supermarket. It’s pouring and by the time I get there, I look like a wet chicken. With as much dignity I can muster, I enter the fully air conditioned supermarket and listen to the background score of my teeth chattering (very kelvinator). It looks like they’re giving everything away free, judging by the number of people who’re there. There were all sorts of people–fat ones, thin ones, tall ones, short ones…mostly fat ones.

For someone with motor skills two levels above an ape, my mother very adventurously asks me to maneuver the shopping cart. I sigh and grab my cart only to have one of the wheels run over my toes. Mentally yelling at myself for wearing Floaters instead of shoes I sigh and follow mum into the labyrinthine shopping area. “Ouch!” the wheel again as I tried to reverse my cart. As I peer at my toe to evaluate the damage, one supreme shorty decides she wants biscuits from the topmost shelf and causes a cascade of crème biscuits on my previously unbruised head. Now I’m bruised from head to foot (well, my inbetween is miraculously unscathed… not for long though). Looking daggers at her isn’t helping 'coz she’s scuttled off. It would have been better if I had kept my eyes firmly in front of me. Someone with motor skills even worse than mine decides his shopping isn’t interesting enough and playing bumper carts might enhance the experience. Result: a bruised middle. In spite of all the blubber that shields my tummy, I know it’s gonna be a blue bruiser.

Somehow I make my way out of aisle one (in my head, it pops up like a video game: LEVEL 1 COMPLETE: LEVEL 2)

A fact I’ve accepted is, the wheel of my shopping cart has an affinity for my toes. It doesn’t help that other people want to run me over too! And in all this, my mother is blissfully unaware, in her wonderland of aisles filled with things to stack her cart with. The heavier my cart gets, the more unmanageable it becomes.

To make my life a little more bearable, I add some Sprite to my cart only to have mum promptly put it back on the shelf and launch into the “diet” lecture. The chocolate I sneaked in is sneaked back with “the look”.

Feeling great pity for myself, I decide to tame my undomesticated cart. By then, my toes hurt, my legs are aching and my head is throbbing. Just then a kid decides to throw a tantrum and launch himself onto the floor kicking and screaming. Half of me wants to pick him up and pet him, the other half wants to spank the brat. I ignore wailing Wally only to find myself abandoned by mum. The 4 yr old in me wakes up and I panic (why?! I’ve been here a gazillion times) still, I want my mum!!! I scan the aisles and find her looking at some new fangled precooked mishmash. Relieved, I rush to be near her. I go one way, my cart goes the other and the stack of soups comes down crashing. The staff is now glaring at me (they think I’m the creme biscuit crasher). Mum decides the faster she gets me out of here the better. She doesn’t want to be “black listed” for having a delinquent daughter. Luckily, the checkout is reasonably empty as I pile my stuff on the counter, grab my bags and leave.


re-belle said...

ha haa..i totally sympathise...they should have shopping cart races in the olympics...its as challenging as the steeplechase

Anonymous said...

aww u poor thing! u had a real bad time!