Kennyster

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

"Mum, I don't drive a lorry."

Chinese New Year shopping with my mum is like... being denied euthanasia. You feel like dying but you cannot die.

Yesterday afternoon, my mum dragged me to the supermarket near my place. Jostling with the new year crowd, we moved from aisle to aisle, with her son (me) lingering behind, dutifully carrying the shopping baskets.

Centuries passed.

Okay. Maybe I was exaggerating. But SERIOUSLY, we must have spent like an hour plus there, and in the process filling like 6 baskets can??!!! Buying new year goodies I can understand. BUT 48 cans of coca-cola, 36 bars of soap, 12 packs of toothpastes, 5kg of washing powder and 6 whole freaking chickens???

I had to remind my Mom firmly (while at the same time not undermining her despotic dictatorship), that her son drives a car, a medium sized car, and not some DHL lorry and that we only have 2 pairs of hands, and they aren't exactly muscular.

And WAIT, nooo noo no, my sad story doesn't end here. After leaving the supermarket, my mom actually zoomed off to the market to "get more chickens", leaving me behind with A-L-L our groceries. Help.

I surveyed the pile of shopping bags. This was like some sort of World's Strongest Man challenge. Except that I was now going to be an entrant and hot favorite for the World's Most Pitiful Son competition.

I did my pitiful shrug routine, all rolling shoulders and curling top lip, and realise that nobody was going to take pity on thou wretched soul.

Carrying all the shopping bags in my trembling arms, with sweats beading down my red flustered face, I shuffled my feet ( think penguins ) all the way to the carpark, which was located at the fourth storey.

Damn tak glam lar.

Kennyster @ 5:06 PM