OrganiSed Chaos

A woman cannot live on blogging alone {more’s the pity I think} thus I occasionally need to go food shopping. Quite grudgingly I’ll add.

So. When the time comes that I need to search for sustenance, I do the usual thing. I make a list. It’s a specific list and I stick to it with rare additions as I’m going up and down aisles to fill said list. If I have a special event coming up at home, I tend to buy more in specialty shops. Maybe a bit dearer, but more varied and you find those “special” little things that jsut make a night like that.

Now, as you probably gathered already, I’m not big on supermarkets. The reasons are many and varied, but one in particular stands out for me.

The social butterflies. I’m sure you know the ones I mean?

Not a hair out of place, make up perfect, stilettos done with high shine, gold dripping from every available hanging spot, designer clothes and sunglasses, with the emphasis laden manner of making conversation? I can guarantee you’ve seen {and heard} them!

“Dahling! How wonderful to see you again! It’s been far too long! We really must get together for coffee!” all whilst standing there with a trolley full of every single brand product available and not one generic packet or box to soil their perfect collection of groceries.

In.the.middle.of.the.aisle!

Move to one side? Nope?

Move to the end out of everyone’s way? Nope!

Slap.bang.in.the.middle.of.the.damned.aisle!

Generally 2 or 3 wide just to add insult to injury!

These people are the bane of my supermarket treks and much of the reason I detest needing to go there at all!

Sould you dare saying “excuse me” in order to pass their little social gathering in order to continue your mission for the day, you get what I call “the look”.

The lofty, superior one that starts from the top of their pompous little turned up nose, all the way down to your seemingly lower level of pathetic little existence.

Let me count the ways I hate that look!

How many times have I been tempted to ram my trolley so hard through the middle of them that their silcone boobs will be shaking for a month, or drop a silent but deadly as I go through then stand at the end of the aisle watching their perfect little noses wrinkle in distaste and their faces turn green?

I feel like saying “Hello??? 2 bit snob?? It’s a place to buy food. If you want to socialise, piss off to the local coffee shop and let the rest of us do what we need to do! Let that poor woman with the 28 children and 4 trollies be done and gone!”

*sigh*

But I resist. I merely smile and weather “the look”, say thank you, then continue on my merry little way, marking items off my list in order to be done as quickly as possible and make a hasty escape.

So far that is! One day the devil will get in my ear and that fart is gonna be a ripper. It will be planned for well in advance, cabbage and eggs will be breakfast, and the timing of my little trip will be perfect to coincide with the eruptions that are sure to be created.

It won’t be particularly silent, but I can tell you here and now, it will be deadly!

Every hair on their perfect little heads will shrivel, their perfect little upturned noses will curl with horror, and their silicone boobs will shatter from the noxious cloud I leave behind.

That day is approaching. Rapidly!

Besides, if they really were as toffy as the image they enjoy portraying, they wouldn’t be seen dead in a supermarket. Their minions would have that damned chore!

God I hate supermarkets! I used to shop online a lot in Sydney, maybe I need to go back to doing just that??