Shoping with the family

This morning I was playing touch rugby with Sawyer from Lost on a deserted beach when Stiffla told me to move up.
Reluctantly I opened one eye and it shot in the direction of the window… the slight misty resentment I boarded towards Stiffla for disturbing me from my dream evaporated into one of those real “Oh shit” feelings. The sun was shining…which meant one of two things…. Either it was Saturday or I had overslept.
It turned out to be the latter.
In 15min I was dressed and driving the living shit out of “Giffie” (my car) and yet I still pitched late for work.

I have decided to blame this slothly behavior on Stiffla’s Brother “Will”.
Yesterday a months hard labour and misuse of the companies internet facilities paid of and I, like the rest of the population, flocked to the supermarket so that I can take my family off the diet of cardboard box and tomato sauce I had them on.
Usually we all do this together as I keep Stiffla and Will under the illusion that they actually have a say in what they eat.
The boys register their dislike of this monthly ritual in various way’s.
For one; each insists on having his own trolley, this is not because they are overly helpful but rather because they want to race one another up and down the tampon isle. (the bright side is that half of the woman in Boksburg have been frightened into early menopause)
The only reason I permit this behavior is because if we get only one trolley one of the boys commits himself to the cockpit of this Pick and Pay propelled hell cart, and believe me there is not much room in there next to a 20 year old kid.
Other manifestations of their bad grace include adding an assortment of sweets chips and toys to my selection when I am not looking. I have countered this by sticking to a budget, if after the bare essentials have been paid for there is any money left they get to choose from the collection of crap they added.
They also unpack my trolley in the wrong order and then tell me that I am a hag when I bitch about having oven cleaner in the same packet as the frozen goods.
And the most recent trick is to go watch movies…. No hang on you don’t get it… I found them flat on their asses in the appliance section, each with a packet of jumping jack popcorn watching the movie they run on the screens.

I ask you. It’s no wonder their mothers a text book psycho.

Anyway, yesterday, Stiffla was not able to make the expedition and I was left with just Will.
If you have ever taken a three year old shopping you will have some idée as to what I went through.
I picked him up from work and having a captive audience, I announced that we had to go do the shopping.
He looked at me like a wet cat and said “do we have to”
“Yes” I said sternly, then Will stuck his head out the window of my moving car and asked the woman in the car next to us if she would adopt him.
Leaving the poor woman to her heart attack we made our way to the hyper market where I had to bribe the little bugger with food before he donned a shopping cart.
With a long face he followed me and grabbed every opportunity to piss me off.
The floor of the unfortunate institute is now plastered in egg and mayonnaise because every time I want to drop something in the cart Will reversed it.
I learnt my lesson and started creeping up on him… however the creative mind of a shit stirrer has now limits and he retaliated by trying to ram the cart into my ankles.

I am now petitioning that the shopping cart be registered as a lethal weapon.
I have yet to hear the end of this and he is still bitching about the inhumane torture I put him through.

Latter I am going shopping with Chaz and I swear that if she breaks any speed limits with a trolley or dons a cucumber as a fashion accessory I am going to stick my head in the microwave