Shopping. Love it or hate it, it’s a job that has to be done at some point unless you fancy starving. Jon and I have very different views on shopping. To me it’s a chore, I’m a get in, get it done and get out kind of person. He’s a take your time, peruse at your leisure kind of person. This is a recipe for disaster as on the majority of occasions we end up at loggerheads with me whispering “will you bloody hurry up” through gritted teeth and him telling me to “sod right off”, usually with something added about being a moody cow for good measure. Added to the fact he ALWAYS wants to go after I finish work, I am indeed a tired, hungry, grumpy bastard.
Take the other day for example, I can drive, he can’t, so most of the time I have to go with him because I’m not spiteful enough to make him drag it home on the bus. He’s a fussy bugger and likes to squeeze the melons and whatnot so won’t entertain the idea of online shopping. We rock up, for once child free, I was looking forward to getting the shopping done and naffing off home to eat chocolate and watch programmes unsuitable for young children. No. Over an hour it took him while I stomped around behind him like a teenager that’s been dragged out with Mum and Dad who hold hands and kiss in public. Not my idea of fun, I can tell you.
I like scan & go – don’t tell my Mum, she thinks this kind of thing is just wrong – get it all shoved in bags as you go along, pay and bugger off out of there. He likes a person to boop them all through and pay in cash. He’s 8 years younger than me but feels like he’s 20 years older sometimes. Get with the times buddy!
Here are some other things I’d rather do than go shopping with my other half:
- Moisturise myself all over with a lump snapped off a fatberg and warmed up in the microwave.
- Snog Donald Trump. Tongues the lot. After he’s eaten onion soup, kippers and garlic bread.
- Chew a handful of cotton wool balls.
- Scrub my lady bits with a cheese grater.
- Eat Marmite.
- Accidentally sext my boss. Including pics.
- Watch Caillou for 24 hours straight.
- Drink my morning cuppa from one of my teenagers trainers.
- Spend a week working at a softplay centre for free.
- Publish every single one of my selfies on Instagram. Even the ones where I look like Miss Piggy’s ugly sister.
Can you tell I don’t really like going shopping yet? I’m like one of the middle aged guys that sit in a corner at Marks & Spencer waiting for the Mrs to get on with looking at the sale racks with a bored look on their face. Who wants to spend hours avoiding Mildred and Joan blocking the aisle chatting about their bunions? Or seeing that bloke that sniggered at the other half telling you to stop being a twat every corner to you turn down?
Window shopping isn’t for me either, if I don’t have cash in my purse I’m going nowhere near any shops where I may fall in love with some swanky shoes or natty knickers. I never really understand how people can look around shops all day with no intention of buying anything. Like poor old Charlie Bucket pressing his nose against the window of the sweet shop I’d be. I think a lot of that stems from the time when I was a single parent and I’d be dragged along to shopping trips with friends who’d be buying new dresses for the weekend piss up that I could neither afford nor would be going to.
You know what I say? Much like good old Peter Kay…
Pick it. Pack it. Fuck off.