Not a happy camper
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.
I know exactly what you mean about wifey vanishing inside of stores. I sometimes bellow her name at full voice just to piss her off, regardless of the looks I get. I have even been known to page her from the customer service desk. Usually though, weather permitting which it normally does, I go sit in the car, wind the window down, sit back with my feet out of the said window, turn on the music, light a ciggy and let her spend the time looking for me.
vaca’s are grand but home is HOME nothing sleeps like your own bed either
Those hypermarkets are excellent for stocking up on stuff you might need at home – like assorted shotgun cartridges.
See, told you and it’s only freeking September. Have you actually met and talked to one of the natives, I spent two weeks at a guite in Pluvorn, just outside Roscof, I nearly fucking starved trying to find somewhere to eat, I assure you I could turn out bottom crepes that taste better than the shite they served up.
Nope, France is for the French and they are welcoime to the fucking gawd awful place.
TT – I said it before and I’ll say it again….. kindred spirits! 😈
Cat – For me it’s as much the little things like knowing where everything is kept. I can sleep virtually anywhere, but my chair is special. Haven’t had a decent nap in ages!
Ian – NEVER buy assorted shotgun cartridges. Wrong caliber can be messy.
Patrick – You have lost me. “See, told you and it’s only freeking September.” Wha?
And I have spoken to the natives. In particular, one native. I have spent the last two weeks dodging the fucker. I think he’s taken a fancy to me.