When I die, I will surely be remembered for my uncanny ability to choose the loudest, most obnoxious malfunctioning mofo of a supermarket cart in the entire store. Every. Single. Time.
Add to that my strangely preferred method of procrastinating shopping until right before I have to pick the kids up–so I am in full on supermarket dash mode, breaking a sweat in my quest for Panko breadcrumbs or whatever the hell else I’ve deemed necessary for tonight’s dinner–and customers can’t help but hear me speed smashing through the store. My intermittent sighs of disgust add a nice touch to the noise pollution.
Seriously, there must be an uptick in headache medicine sales when I’m there. Or binge chocolate bar eating. I think I saw someone stress open a bag of potato chips as I whizzed by with my broken, unruly wheel (right before I almost took a header, but I digress).
Do I return the offensive cart? No. I don’t have the time nor the ability to choose a cart that doesn’t demand attention. So I’m that hot mess of a mom–a running headbangers ball of joy, if you will–thrashing around aisle four in spirit of AC/DC.
Oh, and I don’t remember the Panko breadcrumbs until I pull into my driveway. Of course I don’t remember what I came for! What’s the fun in that?!
I grab $100 worth of groceries in 10 minutes despite my faulty cart handicap (that’s talent, my friends)…but forget the freaking Panko breadcrumbs.
…And I’m Back in Black. Yeah, I’m Back in Black. That’s my fitting internal AC/DC soundtrack playing on repeat during my repeat visit to the store.
Welcome to my world.