Kate Stewart: Shopping dulls the festive spirit

SHOPPER'S LAMENT: Get that second home loan before shopping for Christmas dinner.

WITH my Christmas menu locked and loaded, it was time to tackle the masses in the supermarket aisles.

Shopping list and unfortunately, still bull-barless shopping trolley in hand, I entered the store full of purpose and Christmas spirit ... which lasted about as long as it took me to hit the produce.

Budget constraints aside, I've always fancied myself as a bit of a foodie. I was aware of micro herbs/greens and baby veg but the trend of minuscule broccoli, sold for twice the price of its once much larger ancestor, must be so small that it had slipped by me unseen.

I would need a full head per person and possibly a mortgage. I added frozen peas to my list.

The root vegetables, too, were mocking me. Had I seen FINGERling potatoes, they'd be giving me two of them and it wasn't the peace sign.

A parsnip, a parsnip ... my kingdom for a parsnip. I wondered what a cornea or kidney would fetch on the black market.

Wishing I had a nip of another kind, which, ironically, was probably infinitely cheaper, my still empty trolley and I continued, ashamed by a culture that makes alcohol far more affordable of not just Christmas fare but healthy food in general.

The consolation of being able to drown one's sorrows, rather than eat, was as sour as the price of fresh limes.

Next on the list was some manuka honey, for my planned glazed Christmas ham. With a RRP of $59.95 (there were more expensive ones) I asked the lady next to me whether she thought the supermarket offered finance. Maybe I could pay a third now, a third in 18 months and a final payment in 2019.

I was disappointed by science. Where were the genetically engineered milkable or 3D printable bees? Geez, they'd mastered tiny broccoli!

Disgusted, I went to peruse Christmas proteins.

The only thing missing from the turkey freezer was the crime scene tape. Daylight bloody robbery. Only a freaking turkey would pay these prices.

A politically incorrect, caged, obese, and heaven forbid, blandly hetro, chook, almost certainly involved in an unethical drug trial, may have to suffice.

The Christmas hams were almost too plentiful. Choices ranged from penned, rolled, tri-racial, on the bone, non-denominational, free range, organic, Pilates practising, spoon fed, undoubtedly gender fluid, possibly raised by wolves and Heart Foundation approved, each with prices reflective of their heritage.

I resolved to shop around. Perhaps I could find a demonstrator or pre-loved model on Trade Me.

A tin of Spam and some generic honey mustard were beginning to look mighty attractive.

It was about then that I considered taking my still empty trolley back and replacing it with a, disappointingly, spike free basket.

My spritely walk had turned into the trudge of a prisoner heading for the electric chair.

Dare I dream of dessert? Death row, at least, offered me that possibility.

The aisles were clogged with entitled, selfish shoppers, gossiping, texting ... oblivious to anyone but themselves.

Never mind the friggen parsnip. A horse, a horse ... my kingdom for a horse - and a razor sharp joust.

No one understands the importance of making a profit more than me but must it come at the expense of an affordable and merry Christmas for everyone?

I left, peed off, with just my frozen peas.

And, yes, I've used the word Christmas eight times now.

So, sue me ... I'll pay you if and when I clear my honey debt. #showmethehoney Fair trade endorsed feedback is welcome.

**Kate Stewart is an unemployed, reluctant mother-of-three, currently stuck in a supermarket checkout queue feeling grumpy. Feedback to investik8@gmail.com