The Britch was originally introduced here.
♥♥♥♥
No matter how hard I try, I haven’t been able to forge a relationship with shopping trolleys. We’re at the stage now — him* and me — where we need to break up, or it’s going to get violent.
(for this Christmas rant, I’m going to assign a male pronoun to the common shopping trolley. No offense intended, but both trolley and male are hard to get moving and as difficult to stop when they are on a roll. And don’t get me started on the sweaty handles or unwillingness to take direction!)
It’s not like I haven’t made an effort. I’ve built up pectoral strength, tricep and bicep synergy, have even worked upon my agility by weaving in and out of cones while sprinting, to no avail. The mother cutter of a trolley still manages to be heavy enough and have ridiculous inertia once it gets on the slight slant of the carpark.
It’s not that I haven’t lightened its load so that he has less stress. I’ve split the groceries in two, I’ve laden my forearms with extra baggage so I don’t weigh him down with my own, I’ve even gone back for a second run. He still doesn’t cooperate!
It’s not as though I park the car so far away that he’s required to do extra work, either. I mosey about, praying to St Anthony (the purveyor of great car spots, apparently) and find the flattest, widest, closest, non-disabled labelled carpark possible. Yet still he complains!
And then, the clincher. I’m not an abuser of the shopping trolley — wonder if you are? — but at this very moment, on a day where my arms have been wrenched from the shoulder sockets, I’ve almost taken paint from another car, I’ve been pulled along on a ride cross a road with the inertia-laden, uncooperative, son of a piece-of-cage-on-wheels, I’M ON THE VERY BRINK.
Of abandonment!
To think, after all these years of returning him to his rightful owner, of cosseting him back where he is most comfortable nestled amongst his own, I’m to the point of pushing him over the edge of the river bank into the bush below. I’ve let him spoon other trolleys, for goodness sake, placing him back so that he can penetrate the cages of all his friends in the trolley alley. I’ve inserted my coin in the right slot, eased him out of his resting position, nurtured him into the strains of aisle shopping.
Damn it! I’ve even stopped Pip and Pop from riding on the front of his undercarriage for fear of straining his spine!
No more!
I’m going to place my gold coin in the wrong hole, clunk him against anything harder than his cage, shove him in bushed area where he’s cold and lonely, turn him over so the underside of his body is exposed … and then, if he still fails to move the way I need him to, to GO where I want him to go, I will take out underwear and bras and strewn them all over the cage, unravel some tampons and hang them from his handles and unstick some sanitary napkins and adhere a wad of them to the front of his carriage.
Perhaps then he’ll be embarrassed enough to realize the crap I go through each and every time we are together. *sniffs* I realize this is extreme, but as there are no government-funded counseling sessions for women and trolleys, it’s time for me to take matters into my own hands.
God knows, these hands have touched one too many unattractive handles during this lifetime. It’s time they cleaned up their trundle!
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7 Responses to The Britch Rides Again
Are you talking about Effing Jones or a supermarket trolley? I’m sensing a frustration overlap. But back to the trolley -- it always starts out with such promise and by the end of the shopping trip I am snarling at trolley and children and wondering why I bother treating them with such respect when they care so little for me (applies equally to trolley and kidlets!). *sigh*
yes to kids, trolley and effing Jones. Darl? I think you need a new dog. I think Effing would fit in really well and look after your current animal friends
Rosie recently posted..Box-Set Blues – Christmas Stocking Edition
What? Did you say you were gift wrapping Effing?? For pity’s sake get a grip love! And if you bring him over here, and leave him here then I’ll, I’ll…. Oh just don’t do it!
I won’t do it, but really? I’m on the verge, love. He’s being good, just ran at an older man the other day, totally upending me (nearly fracturing my face) and frightening the bloke and his tiny, weeny puppy (nearly) to death.
Rosie recently posted..Box-Set Blues – Christmas Stocking Edition
Our pooch is currently undergoing a whole body overhaul. It started out as teeth cleaning and has extended to spot removal, lump removal, exploratory surgery on the knee implant and might as well include a tummy tuck and face lift. So even if we really really really wanted another puppy we just can’t afford one, see? Besides, I’m looking forward to downsizing on the number of dependent mouths, not adding to the brood (unless it’s a productive mouth, like a chicken). Anyway, you should be preparing for his
lastfirst Christmas -- with joy.Now that word “last” up above was meant to crossed out! What’s up with this editor? I try and do something fancy, and it all goes doggy bone shaped! And anyway, this post was about trolleys wasn’t it? How’d we get so off topic??
Hi you. I’m going to change this editor. It’s not working well.
Rosie recently posted..Box-Set Blues – Christmas Stocking Edition