Mrs P has sustained an injury and is unable to embark on the weekly shopping expedition. I have stepped into the breach, keen to show my woman I can bring home the bacon - or dinosaur steak as the case may be.
Anyway, trolley chosen, through to the vege section I went where the purchase of carrots appeared a relatively easy task.
It was. But it was the putting them in the tear off bag that proved the tough part. First I couldn't open it then the bag broke and the carrots spilled out over the floor. In my haste to remove myself from the smirking crowd I gathered them up, threw them in the wrong trolley and was about to take off when my mistake was pointed out by a lady with a "stupid husbands shouldn't be here" expression.
Error corrected I hot footed it to the meat section where mince was on the shopping list.
These days mince comes in a heap of different varieties. Normal, prime, premium, Angus, chicken ... I think I got the right one. I crossed it off the list hesitantly. Oh for a bit of simple dinosaur.
Selection made it was off in search of toilet roll, a veritable bounty of goods lining the maze of shelves along the way all pleading for me to release them from their mundane shelf life.
As I staggered around trying to keep an even keel I was tempted with all sorts of special bargains ... a labelling machine, cheese grater with storage attached, funky magnets, mini citrus juicer, avocado saver ... all designed to jolt me awake should the numerous varieties of baked beans or cooking oil put me to sleep.
I made it through the maze emotionally exhausted only to encounter 467 different types of toilet roll. Different thickness, softness, number of rolls per packet, price... it was torture. In the end I closed my eyes, grabbed one, crossed it off the list and moved on.
Washing up liquid, milk, frozen mixed veges and cheese were dealt with in similar fashion. But it was the liquid soap which completely threw me.
Mrs P gave me an old fashioned GPS (diagram) of where it would be. But I'm a man. I don't need a map. Besides I put it down somewhere and forgot it.
As for the liquid soap I searched high and low without success. My frustration made even more prevalent by the fact it was the last item on the list. Everything else was crossed off. This would be a symbol of my failure for all to see. I would forever be reminded of it unless I used my initiative and came up with a suitable alternative ... so I headed back into the maze.
Later, as I triumphantly headed home, I reflected on the experience. I had faced the monster, stared it down and done my woman proud. As I returned to our cave Mrs P would see me as a god, the Brad Pitt of male shoppers. When I tell her about the liquid soap dilemma and my efforts to rectify it I'm sure she'll demand a film star snog.
I just hope she likes the labelling machine and funky magnets I bought her instead of the soap.
