Dad was sent off to the supermarket alone this morning armed with a strict shopping list written by mum. This would have been fine had he gone to the correct supermarket where he knows where things are located. But he chose to try out the new supermarket, which opened last week and looks so large it could easily be mistaken for Heathrow Airport.
He came back over two hours later, in a foul mood. Never again will he venture inside the realms of that vast warehouse that calls itself a supermarket. “There is nothing ‘super’ about it.” Dad says.
As mum and I put the various food and drink, tins, boxes, packets, accessories and the odd inexcusable item that is known as ‘a waste of money’ by mum (eg, 6 leather ring binders – “it was buy 3 get 3 free!” and a barbecue trigger spray cleaner – “dad, we don’t own a barbecue.”), he stood back and watched, absolutley exhausted from his adventure.
“Where is the toilet roll?” Mum asked after all bags were emptied.
Dad looked sheepish. “Well I couldn’t find the specific one you told me to get, and I didn’t know if another one would do.”
“It didn’t have to be the Triple Velvet Quilted Puppy roll. That’s just the one we normally have.” Mum was annoyed. Her hands rested on her hips. “Why didn’t you ask a shop assistant?”
“Look,” dad sat down, “there are some things a self respecting man can not say out loud in public.” Mum and I exchanged looks. “Triple Velvet Quilted Puppy Toilet Roll is one of them.”
“Did you get Tampax?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Sanitary towels? Bodyform?”
Anther sorrowful shake of the head.
“So tell us,” mum said, “for future reference, what else can a man not say out loud in public?”
It turns out there are quite a lot of offensive brand names that todays man can not utter; Mr Muscle, Mr Sheen, Filet o Fish, Cheese balls, Femfresh, Twiglets, Super Silky Softly Soft Tissue, Monster Munch…
“I suppose you didn’t get my Golden Balls Cereal then?” I asked.
“No, sorry Toots.”
Saturday, June 23, 2007