The trouble with grocery shopping is that we are spoilt for choice. Perhaps spoilt isn’t the right word. I don’t feel spoilt, I feel invaded by choice. Invaded because of blaring false fonts and ridiculously tiny fine print on so many variations of what is essentially the same thing.
When the first Homo Sapiens were acquiring food they just needed to kill that one woolly mammoth passing by. There were not several woolly mammoths standing shoulder to shoulder with separate signs labeled, ‘organic’, ‘fat free’, ‘salt reduced’, ‘RSPCA approved’, or ‘Now with viagra’. It was just one unlucky woolly mammoth. Food and clothes in one, may I add. When collecting berries they were not clumped together in packets spelling out, ‘All natural’, less sugar, ‘more antioxidants’. They’re either going to poison you or not, no refunds. That’s it.
When I was little milk magically arrived on the doorstep in glass bottles and it was delicious. It was always milk movember for me. These days I end up in a fluorescent chilled corridor facing a wall of dairy dilemma. How much stuff is in milk? It’s milk! Skim, Goats, Almond, Soy, Rice, Oat, more calcium, easy to digest, omega 3, full cream, reduced fat and smart milk??? What do I do? What would the Neanderthal in me do? Yes, probably poke and prod the products then grunt in frustration until the expiry date. Milk, I just want to trust you like old times.
So I eventually chose the easy to digest because you assume all of the others are difficult to digest and no one wants that. Why isn’t there a litre carton that says, ‘MILK – now with more chemicals and enhanced whiteness!’ Oh wait, that’s toothpaste isn’t it. We all want that whitening toothpaste which doesn’t seem to whiten. Where is the toothpaste for pinker gums to offset the whiter teeth? Then I need the fake tan to make my teeth look even whiter, but before you know it I look like an Oompa Loompa with a laser beam grin. Pow! I’ve never actually used fake tan, I much prefer to just draw extra freckles on myself. “Check it out everybody. Yeah, I get sun. Take that!’
I do, however, moisturize, because you know, who doesn’t want to fight the made up 7 signs of ageing? Quick, take out your moisturizing guns and fire them at your face, lady raptors! But how do you choose a moisturizer? Maybe I should buy the one labeled, ‘Redefining’, since my face looks like a melting Salvador Dali clock lately. If I apply the night moisturizer in the day will I fall asleep? And perhaps if I use the face moisturizer on my legs my knees may become noses. Soothing, hydrating, Vitamin E, Aloe Vera, then on the back of the bottle is an endless list of unfamiliar chemicals contributing to the white ooze. Where’s the immortality disclaimer?
So far I have 3 items in my shopping basket. I chose a basket because I only required a few things. Of course, after an hour I end up lugging around the contents of small shipping container. Damn, should’ve opted for the wheels, but then trolleys have a mind of their own. You know, there’s that one wheel that insists on traveling in the opposite direction, like it’s possessed by some kind of sinister trolley spirit from beyond the car park grave.
It turns out that ‘Self Check-out’ isn’t a large mirror where you can look at yourself. So instead I usually opt for the ‘name tag with hands’ to check-out my groceries. They ask how I am without wanting to know the answer, then enquire if I have Fly Buys, which aren’t feminine hygiene products with wings. So don’t give them that.
The transaction usually requires a short game of poker with my credit cards, then I end up paying with casino chips from the night before. It’s ok, they’re gluten free.
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