Over the weekend I had the privilege of being dispatched, by my darling sick wife, to the super market, to purchase some items for the grocery cupboard. Before I left, I underwent a half hour crash course on the correct and only way to carry out the mammoth and difficult task of grocery shopping without falling into all the traps specially designed to fool the male species into making reckless purchases.
When you get to the cereal shelf, you have to work out the price per gramme and then check to see which size box is cheaper after multiplying the gramme price by the weight of the package. Once you have successfully completed the mathematical equation using your cell phone calculator (if you can even remember where to find the application on your phone) and correctly selected the correct size to purchase, it was time to check all opposition brands and sizes to see if they were any cheaper. One cent difference is most definitely a discrepancy by the way!
Next came the check to see if it was gluten free and that the fat content was lower than our normal brand. If that was lower and the price was better it was time to select which package to buy. Crushed or even bent packages are an absolute, NO NO! Please! Do you see what I mean about male shoppers now?
You have to dig around the back of the pile to see if the shelf packer had been lazy and left the older boxes with lower prices when refilling the shelves. By this time I can feel the onset of exhaustion and my mouth was dry from the sheer panic of not carrying out the purchasing process to its full extent.
The sell by date was the next on the list. It has to be well before the sell by date to be at its freshest or the whole national economy and my life would collapse in utter ruins. The date read 12-10-10. Oh s**t is it the 12th October 2010, the 10th December 2010 or the 10th October 2012. HUH! How the hell do woman survive having to make these monumental decisions? …….. I’ve only tried to buy the cereal so far and I am sweating buckets, my mouth is dry and I‘m starting to get claustrophobic, cerealaphobic and shopaphobic. No wonder I hate shopping. Go figure!