I HAVE just got to come right out and say this - I hate grocery shopping. Absolutely hate it.
Oh, don't get me wrong, I have no trouble skipping up and down the aisles selecting little goodies to drop into my shopping trolley.
I actually quite enjoy fossicking around on the bottom shelf for the reward of finding the last packet of unbroken eggs, and there's a lot to be said for the sudden case of nipple chill on offer as you round the corner into the frozen food aisle.
The supermarket part of grocery shopping is a snap.
Even waltzing around the car park with a mutant trolley has had its lighter moments.
The grief with grocery shopping begins the moment I pull into my driveway.
The family start slowly circling.
They've got their game plan well worked out and keep just out of screaming distance.
This way I get to unload the car and schlep the heavy groceries to the front door all by myself.
It's then the pack of piranhas pounce. With one foot barely in the door, the plastic bags are ripped out of my hands (yes, I know I should be telling you how they rip the green recycle baggies out of my hands but I think we've already established I'm not organised enough to take my bags to the supermarket).
Then the whinging starts - theirs not mine.
"Awgh gee mum, why did you buy this brand, you know it's crap?"
Crap? Funny, I don't remember going down the crap aisle.
Even the dog gets in on the act and gives a dismissive sniff to whatever brand of dog food I have selected for the week's dining pleasure.
For goodness sakes it's dog food - what does he think it's gonna smell like?
After the ritual ransacking and mutual moaning, there's a mass exodus from the kitchen and I get to put away the $250 worth of "crap".
But it's not long before the foraging starts.
My eldest is usually the first on the hunt for biscuits.
I always buy a packet of Family Assorted biscuits 'cos we are an assorted family - although sometimes I think a box of crackers would be more appropriate.
"Where's the biscuits?" my eldest calls out as he systematically goes through the kitchen cupboard with all the skill of an airport security officer checking for contraband.
"I don't think I bought any this week," is my standard reply. His eyes narrow.
We both know he isn't going to buy it that I didn't buy any.
"Oh, all right all right," I say as I crack under the pressure, "hidden behind the tinned corn".
In less than two hours, the only evidence remaining that I bought biscuits is a crumpled packet with half a dozen untouched "yucky" biscuits and a trail of crumbs.
I don't know who was on duty at the biscuit factory the day the decisions were made as to what would go into a Family Assorted packet, but let me just state for the record - the plain milk coffee biscuit isn't winning any awards in my house.
It's the same story at the end of each week - apart from the odd soggy ginger nut, they are all that's left in the cupboard and even the roaches aren't tempted.
Of course I could always share my secret stash of Tim Tams with the kids, but that's as likely to happen as me getting help to unload the groceries or remembering to take my green bags to the supermarket.
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