I know its coming....I can hear the ominous thud of the fridge door closing, and a "starving" husband complaining that theres "Nothing to eat in this bloody house...We'll have to go to shopping!".
Despite the fact that the fridge is positively groaning you know, with delicious things like vegetables...and fish...and cheeses...and general selection of related consumable products, I am reminded that hubby is a Neanderthal and pre-genetically programmed to eat nothing but red meat and Wotsits. So it's off to Sainsburys we go.
Husband sighs as an old dear takes slightly longer than she should to remove her trolley from the Krypton Factor style release system, and looks ever so pleased with himself as his own 'personal' trolley token releases his first time. There are three rules women should remember when it comes to their husbands ( and their unwavering protection of their manhood). You should never interrupt your husband when he is watching premiership football, you should never attempt to 'help' when he is assembling IKEA furniture...and under no circumstances should you offer to "push the trolley" at the supermarket.
We enter the store, and as predicted, husband is off with the trolley like a greyhound from a trap. My carefully constructed shopping list might as well be thrown out of a window as he bypasses the fresh fruit and vegetables and heads straight for the DVD aisle. I spy a fraught young mother with a groaning trolley, and a small child on the floor having a tantrum of epic proportions. I smile at her in an empathetic fashion, and wonder secretly if she would like to swap.
Now its been a month or so since we have done a "Big Shop", so I scurry around selecting five litres of bleach, washing powder and a bag of cat litter large enough to serve a pride of lions. I then spend the next ten minutes wandering round Sainsburys laden down like a pack horse, before eventually locating husband at the other end of the store perusing a special offer on shaving foam, and chatting to a stranger regarding the various pros and cons of Ford Fiestas. He has however taken the opportunity to place a few necessary items in the trolley during my absence...'BOGOF' curry sauce, a tin opener (because the perfectly operational one we have at home is "crap") and pickled onion Monster Munch. I casually mention that as we are in the toiletries aisle, I should pick up some tampons...Husband now decides I can push the trolley myself.
We eventually make our way to the checkout with a selection of items that we don't actually need, but not before I have solicited the opinion of four strangers as to which brand of toilet paper they would prefer...presumably because I was ridiculous enough to assume that husband was actually behind me with the shopping trolley as I pondered.
As I carefully unpack the trolley onto the conveyer belt, husband decides to assist by throwing random items on top of each other. Bags end up being packed in the following fashion...potatoes on top of light bulbs...fresh fish nestled amongst strawberry scented soap...and an individual bag of husband's 'snacks', should he get peckish on the journey home.
Husband has exerted himself to his own detriment during our expedition and so once home, settles himself down to watch "Sports Round Up". I wearily unpack the shopping and set about the task of finding a home for two kilos of corned beef. I switch the kettle on, and enquire what husband would like to eat.
The strawberry scented soap narrowly misses his left temple as he casually proclaims..."I'm not really that hungry anymore....I'll maybe just order a takeaway later!".
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