The Weekly Shop
Nowadays, my weekly shop is as boring as everyone else’s. I wander round the supermarket looking and feeling bored, then I wait in the queue and sigh myself into a virtual-standing-up-coma. Then I pay and leave and say, “thank (insert whatever word you like here) I don’t have to come back here again until next week!”
I really hate it actually.
But it didn’t always used to be like that. In fact, it used to be awesome fun. So much more than fun…
My dad was the main driver and I was the wing commander. I’d stand on the side of the trolley and steer it past unsuspecting old people, narrowly avoiding sinister passerby who frowned at me with big droopy faces. Sometimes, when dad wasn’t looking, I would steal the trolley and run with it down the aisle. Then, when nobody was looking I’d let go and do a huge long “superman” at high speed!
Back then I wanted to be a professional “trolley driver” more than anything. Sadly, I later found out that such things didn’t exist. The torture, for a few days, was unbearable.
I’d still rather be doing that than uploading doctor jobs onto a database, but still, I suppose I still have my imagination. Nobody can ever take that away (nope. Old age will have to do that, and to be honest, by that point I probably won’t care anyway because I will be that old that I no longer know what it’s like to walk, let alone do a “superman”.)
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