Death, Taxes, and Grocery Shopping

Something is really bugging me. So, I've made up my mind right here and now to deal with in a way that only I, Alex, as a woman, can! In the time honoured tradition of my sisters worldwide; the same way generations of my sex have been dealing with things that have irritated them for years—nae, centuries! I'm going to have a damned good bitch about it!

Ok, so I went shopping the other day. I decided to visit a new centre that's just opened up near our house. I tell you it's huge! It's like, "Oh, you want milk? Sure, you just go down this aisle, make a left at the jams and mustards, take a right at the fruit and vege, keep going past the spagetti and noodles--and you just can't miss it."

It's such a drag, but as Hamish Maxwell, Philip Morris' chairman is said to have said: "People may ultimately stop drinking or smoking, though I don't believe it, but you can bet your life they'lll keep on eating."

Damn it, he's right! People's eating habits may change, but that's about all.

Speaking of which, how come when ever a label says "special low fat" or "special low salt", or "special" anything for that matter, it almost always also means special high price? My pet peeve is "special" prices that they've just knocked a measely two or three cents off. Big deal! We don't even have one and two cents coins in Australia anymore, so how can they do that? And, on that note, there ought to be a law against prices with a second decimal place number nine. It's ridiculous!

Ah, but I digress...

Well, I managed to find everything we needed, plus a whole lot more, so I headed for the checkout. As I stood there, and stood there some more--yes, by the time the average person reaches the age of fifty they will have spent approxmately five days queuing-- I couldn't help but wonder why some people just stand there and then wait until they're told the amount of their purchase, before they actually start rumaging through their handbag, wallet, or what ever to find something to pay with. What are they thinking? "Maybe today I'll be the lucky one millionth customer who doesn't have to pay for my groceries."?

Ok, so, then made my way back to the vast expanse of bitumen known as the shoppers' carpark, and damn it, I couldn't remember where I'd parked! A friend of mine drives this gaudy red topless bug thing with black and white faux cow hide seat covers. She never loses her car.

I did find my vehicle, eventually, exactly where I'd left it, but two huge fourwheel drives were parked either side of it. I had to literally turnside ways to squeeze my scrawny little body in the dirver's seat, and then I had to play Russian roulette to back my car out because there was just no way I could see past those huger than huge suckers.

I tell you, shopping centres are a domestic endurance; a ruthless struggle in a suburban jungle!

And, I tell you something else, death, taxes and grocery shopping are the three things in life you just can't aviod.