So, there I was at the checkout, my shopping piled high after a fraught five minutes bundling it onto the conveyor, semi-satisfied with my sketchy sort of packing order – potatoes at the front, loaf at the back kind of thing, when lo and behold a weary, monotone voice half-shouts “this one’s goin’ off love”. I immediately glanced at my avocado, irked that I would now have to forego its glorious green flesh and do without. However, turns out it wasn’t just my favourite fruit that I would be sacrificing but the whole flaming caboodle as Jean was canteen-bound for a cuppa.
With about three seconds to go until the school bell I opted to do a runner. Not being the confrontational type this was me being brave. “Oh well I’ll just have to forget it then. In a bit of a rush.” I mumbled, in a kind of mock laid-back tone, as if I couldn’t give a hoot that I would have to do my big shop all over again WITH THE KIDS. I’m amazed I made it back to the car with all the hazy squiggles of rage dancing in my eyes. All my glum face was crying out for now was the obligatory “cheer up it might never happen”. Luckily it seems my fellow shoppers had made the collective decision to keep their mouths shut, most probably because as I hot-footed it to the car, having imaginary ‘words’ with Jean in my head, I must have resembled a crazy woman. I certainly felt like one.
The reason I was on the minutes by the way, was a clandestine meeting with some wardrobes no less. I had been to inspect our new arrivals and was so enamoured with our new children’s wardrobes that I spent probably far too long positioning, then admiring them in our showroom. I could have gazed at them for hours but several hundred “oooohs” and “aaaahs” later I decided to shape up and ship out before I was carted off for questionable behaviour around bedroom furniture.
Despite having to give the children cereal for their tea, I suppose I could just about -if I craned my neck enough- look on the bright side. Our beautiful new wardrobes had arrived and I had let off (a bit of) steam at the checkout. It’s nice to be all bolshie and brave sometimes, exhilarating even, but then the guilt will come back to haunt you, usually in the middle of the night. I awoke at around 3am worrying that my hasty dash from the shop, leaving my huuuuge pile of food on the conveyor had wreaked anger in the town and my face had now been added to the international supermarket most-wanted database (assuming there is one of course).
At some point however my inner demons must have buried the hatchet as the following morning I awoke with a flickering image of myself and supermarket Jean racing through the desert ‘Thelma and Louise’ style. Mmm maybe I should have kept that one to myself.
Until next time…