Shopping is woman’s work.
Unfortunately Herself has an inbuilt mis-guidence system that always aims her to the wrong part of the shop. If she goes in to buy food, she ends up buying clothes. If she gos in to buy a pair of knickers, she’ll come out with a leg of lamb. She also has the uncanny knack of becoming invisible in a supermarket. To this day, I have never worked out how she does that. I have been known to walk the entire length of a supermarket ten times, knowing she is in there somewhere yet still failing to find her. Weird.
There is a supermarket in a town not far from here. As French supermarkets go, it isn’t that big but you could still probably every single supermarket in Ireland into it, and there would still be spare floor space. We have had to go there a couple of times now, and each time I have had to accompany Herself into the dreaded Halls of Consumerism.
Not only is Herself’s mis-navigation a problem but she is a divil for the impulse buy too. This is another valid reason to accompany her as she might otherwise buy one of the many cars on display in the main hall. Or a new roof for the house. Or a holiday in the Seychelles. Irish supermarkets sometimes have “sweet-free” checkouts. The French should have “car-free” counterparts.
There were a couple of things that I noticed about this supermarket.
For a start, the car park is so fucking big, it actually features on my SatNav. Yup. Roger gives me directions on how to navigate it, which is probably as well, as I’d never find my way out otherwise. Even Google Earth marks its lanes as roads, though it stops short at naming them.
In Irish supermarkets you occasionally see kids pushing a broom around the place trying to keep the floor clean. Here in France there is a slight difference. Not for them the lowly foot soldier of the cleaning brigade. Oh no. They drive around the place in mini-fucking-lorries. A couple of times I was nearly run down by one of these machines as the bloke drove it up and down the aisles.
One afternoons shopping there and I feel like I have just run a fucking marathon. You need hiking boots, the place is so big. It’s not a bad idea to bring a tent too, in case you find yourself too far from the entrance and have to spend a night there.
There are a couple of things I am looking forward to back in Ireland.
I miss Sandy.
I miss my comfy armchair with its personalised arse shaped dent in the cushion.
And I really miss Interweb shopping.