My Own Personal Version Of Hell

by Cookie


We all have our own vision of Hell.  I mean, we picture some red asshole with horns and a pitchfork and a whole lot of fire.  Or a whole bunch of little imps whipping people and making them do a whole bunch of hard manual labour for ever and ever.

But Bitches, the devil lives in Canada and wears a Superstore smock.  Hell is the checkout and the holding rooms are the produce aisle and the seafood section.  The imps are in fact my children, tearing out each others hair in the cart and rolling tomatoes around like bowling balls on the floor while I try to find a way out.

Whatever sins I commit every week, I fucking do my penance by taking two toddlers grocery shopping.

Oh, I used to be so nonchalant about it.  I’d take them to the store, toddle around, make up recipes in my head as I perused the aisles.  That was back when they were mostly strapped into carseats. It was also when they didn’t talk.  And when there was only one of them.

And when I fucking shopped at Safeway.

People say that having children changes you, and they sure were right.   My friends used to always comment about how I shopped at Safeway, it was so expensive, blah blah blah.

They were right, but I didn’t care.  I figured we could afford it, and I like someone to bag my groceries and put them in my car if I say so.  I don’t mind paying for service.

Now I have two little perpetually hungry little monsters who need to be fed incessantly.  They are 1 and 3.  Can you imagine how much food it will take to satisfy them when they are 10?

So, because all of a sudden I am frugal and stupid, I’ve decided to shop at Superstore.  It’s like some cheap mom gene got activated that will soon cause me to wear scrunchies and high waisted pants.

The last time I took both of them was worse than yesterday.  It was a Saturday, I only had an hour, and someone pissed their pants in the checkout.

Yesterday wasn’t as annoying, but the lobster and crab aquariums were empty.  I wasn’t prepared for the assholery heartache this would cause in my Twee Destroyer.  She likes to go shopping for one reason:  To see the fucking almost and soon to be dead and eaten shellfish in the seafood department.  She is either a sadistic little fuck or completely innocent of the death and carnage about to be bestowed on her little friends.

So, whatever.

I literally spend between half to two thirds the amount I used to on groceries, but I miss the stress free environment at my old store.  I miss the nice cashiers who don’t hate you or their job enough to not be able to fake loving it for a few hours a day.  I miss standing there calmly on my Iphone while someone rings up and bags and packs my cart.  Is it worth it?  Do I just spend whatever I save in groceries in wine anyway?

I miss grocery shopping alone.

I miss being able to do some errands without living in constant fear of someone shitting their pants.

I miss the old days when we were kids when parents could just lock their kids in the car for an hour.  Our parents generation had it made.

Seriously.  My personal Hell.  I’m not kidding.