denial

It would never happen to me.

Oh, how many times I have sworn this.  Swore it as some fogie rams their shopping trolley onto the bus, rolling over toes, forcing everyone just a little bit closer, closing that precious inch gap that separates you from the alcohol-drenched man behind you.  Then tries to shove the massive thing onto the luggage rack, which inevitably has 2 other trolleys, all exploding with groceries and smelly half price fish and Lord only knows what else.  Then rides for exactly one stop, repeating the entire process in reverse order.

I will never, ever get one of those stupid trolleys.  My friend in Germany calls them old lady bags, only in German.  I am not an old lady.  I am a strong, hip, urban adult who carries her shopping on her shoulders, as God intended!

So how did this end up in my kitchen?

Image

It was for a special event!  A one off – I wasn’t going to use it for daily stuff.  Argos had like 20 different kinds.  I scanned reviews until I found the highest rated at lowest price – and found the monstrosity pictured above.  None of the reviewers were under the age of 65.  Oh, wait, wait!  There’s one!  A female age 25-35 thought it was ‘brilliant’!  But it was a birthday present for her mum.  Sigh.

I hate you, Argos.  Damn your cheap, convenient, clickable shopping!  So now I have an old lady bag.

And, um.  I can’t believe I’ve lived here for 2.75 years without it.  Do you know how many bags of freaking compost I can stuff in that thing?  Like 30 litres!  And all the half priced fish you can eat!  

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