Monday, March 12, 2007

Supermarket Rant #1: Ladies, keep 'em home ...

Anyone who knows me realizes that I would rather do ten loads of laundry than set foot in the supermarket. Just like I would rather eat a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and a cup of canned soup than (gasp!) cook anything.

I go to the supermarket because I have to, not for the sheer thrill of provisioning my family, or for the challenge of chasing bargains. I go because life requires fuel, and there is no one else at my house who would be caught dead there.

OK, we've established that I am grocery-store averse. Ladies, please don't make this any harder for me.


Husbands should not be allowed in the supermarket. I'm not referring, of course, to those few, wonderful husbands who actually do the family grocery shopping. Those guys are saints. Where can I find one? Hubby, I'm out of here.

I'm talking about your typical middle-aged suburbanite in plaid Bermuda shorts with his hands folded behind him, peering patiently into the frozen vegetable display chest while his wife loads up. The paunchy, bored-looking golfer who trundles along in his wife's wake (can't he even push the cart?). These guys serve no purpose! A trip to Wegman's hardly qualifies as Date Night, now does it? And they are in my way.

Ladies, please don't plant your pensive spouse in front of the Gatorade when I'm trying to get my five weekly bottles. Don't leave him expectantly contemplating the Campbell's tomato soup as if waiting for a can to speak to him. There is no reason for him to stand in front of the dairy case with the door open, staring raptly at the 2% milk with a beatific expression. He doesn't know what he's looking at! And I need to get past him to get my Egg-Beaters!

Maybe I will write to Wegman's and suggest that they install some kind of playroom for husbands. All they would need is a couple of TV's with (of course) remote controls, or (even better) a few non-lethal power tools for them to play with. That way we women can get the real work done.

Because, you see, I'm afraid of having an accident. I'm worried that I really might mow down some poor clueless husband in my dash for paper towels. I'd hate to have that on my conscience -- even if he didn't know what hit him!


Sandy, csj said...


Hilarious!! Love your sense of humor! Thanks for your contribution to my blog today...

Hedwyg said...

Snork! That was wonderful!

When my husband comes, he spends the entire time complaining about how long we've been there (extended because of his complaining), and trying to convince me that we don't need the items on the list, even if he put them there. To shut him up, I'll agree, and then return to the store the next day on my way home from work to pick them up.

Anonymous said...

Tee hee!

This all comes from a lack of training and proper supervision. You must start early. If you've been married for more than a year, it's too late. Training is ideally begun soon after the first date, and certainly before you allow him to spend the night. My husband is a great shopper but it took time and training right from the beginning.

You also need to use the hunter-gatherer thing to your advantage. While you are rapidly gathering the things you really need, send him on a MISSION. "Honey, we need that specific kind of salad dressing you really like." He will hunt the salad dressing and bring it back to you (hopefully not actually between his teeth) all proud of himself. ;-)

-Stephanie the Bad Seminarian (evil laugh!)

MoCat said...

LOL! I love this!
What's even worse are the women who bring their entire extended family along, so not only do we have to navigate around the bored hubby, now we have to get around grandma and grandpa and a gaggle of kids.
These woman can usually be found pushing those double-trailer length carts with a plastic car stuck on the front containing two of her charges arguing over who gets to turn the plastic steering wheel.

Thanks for letting me vent.
Love your blog!