Grocery shopping is a shit show. This is a fact of life.
For Hubby and I, grocery shopping is more than a shit show - it is a devastating ordeal of remarkable proportions. We either argue about Hubby's 15 minute pickle-selection process, or Hubby's 20 minute cereal-selection process, or Hubby's 25 minute sauce-selection process. Or the fact that not every set of apples needs its own environmentally unfriendly plastic bag.
Today, however, we did quite well. We didn't need much, just a few snacks to satisfy this tiny human I'm growing. We made it through the produce section (with only one minor "discussion" about whole grain bread), and then it happened... I could tell, Hubby was starting to lose it...
For some unknown reason, I was in a perfectly pleasant mood. Normally, the insanity that is a discount grocery store on a Sunday afternoon would be too much for me to handle (RUN THE FUCKERS OVER), but today I was downright calm and cheerful. Blame hormones?
Hubby, on the other hand, was on the BRINK. Although entirely imperceptible to anyone but me, the small aisles, large carts and idiot people were starting to sloooowly push him closer and closer to the edge. It wasn't obvious, it was subtle - a little twitch in his eye, a sigh now and then, an occasional speed-walk past a fellow shopper.
But I could tell. I could see it.
And what did I do to prevent his meltdown? Absolutely nothing. I just kept moseying through the aisles, asking the dumbass store kid to find my soup, and oooh look ice cream sandwiches!
Then we got to the end, and I thought one particular encounter would really send Hubby into the realm of intolerance that would result in total abandonment of our grocery mission:
There was a 4 year old randomly running through the crowds like a stun-gun victim - only made worse when his dad (who probably stun-gunned the stupid kid in the first place) started shouting at him FROM 8 AISLES AWAY, only to receive a insolent exposed tongue before the kid took off in the opposite direction reverting to his original "I'm a demented airplane without a steering wheel" style.
But no. That was oddly NOT the end of Hubby as I knew him. Sure, I knew what he was thinking ("I will SO not let my kid do that" and "get me the fuck out of here"), but he didn't verbalize it. He simply found the path of least resistance to the cashier.
To top it off, he returned the cart to its little hut without even reclaiming his deposit quarter, and now I don't know what to do with the world.