Who Said Being a Housewife is Dull

Being a good housewife, in pursuit of the best grocery deals available on the South Coast, I took an unprecedented and daring break from routine and left the dishwasher unloaded to drive the eleven miles to our nearest ASDA supermarket to see for myself whether their customers really do pat their bottoms with glee over their low, low prices.

Ten minutes to park the car was excessive and gave me ample time to work myself into a strop with all other shoppers. Eventually securing a lone trolley, I was thrilled to discover why it was abandoned as it pulled me in the opposite direction to which I had intended on going. Unable to face Chickie transfer, I wrestled it into the supermarket with gritty determination.

I’ll admit, the prices were peachy and I was quite excited as I heaped my defunct trolley with all sorts of handy, ‘don’t actually need but must buy because they’re such good value’, items. A vase, roasting tins, a potty, spoons, crayons, aprons and socks were just some of the essential items not on my list.

One hour and one very full trolley later, I was too pooped to rub my bottom. A ‘Carry to Car’ sign caught my eye and left me wondering, if I asked nicely, whether some nice shop assistant might just fling myself, Chickie and all our bags over his shoulder and deposit us back at the car. Probably not what they had in mind, but there lies the danger of being non-specific.

The thrills and spills just kept coming as I maximised my time during Chickie’s two hour nap by replacing my roasting tin collection which also included a forty-five minute grease scraping session to salvage my favourite ‘crispiest roast potatoes in the world’ tin.

I’ve noticed recently that whenever I buy something new, I have to throw out or reorganise the old (most recently tupperware) before settling my latest purchase into it's new home. I think the root lies in my obsessive compulsive tendencies but I now sit here strangely fulfilled at the thought of my pristine pastel roasting tin collection which also prompted a light cleaning session followed by a Chickie vest recategorisation by sleeve length extravaganza.

Will the fun never stop!