grocery shopping

What is it about grocery shopping that makes me want to throw up? Not literally, but like the dry heaving I pretend to do behind my mom's back when she asks me to accompany her to our local Ralph's. I hate grocery shopping.

• I hate standing in the cold freezer section, watching my leg hair grow back, while my mom picks out the best frozen meal. Which she can't even eat.

• I hate walking by all of the bloody dead mounds of meat lying in a dirty glass case. I especially hate when there is fish and you can smell them the second you enter the carnivore prison. I hate their beady little eyes that watch you choose between eating Mary's little lamb or Wilbur.

• I hate the aisles of processed, packaged food that look so delicious. And they are delicious. And that's why I hate them.

• I hate the crowds of people that don't know how to maneuver their cart. And I hate smiling and pretending to be polite when some crazy lady runs over my foot or knocks into my cart. And I hate workers that ask if they can help you find something every five seconds. One time I swear there was this pair of coworkers that made it their life goal to follow me around the store and see if I need their assistance. I had to hide behind a display of two-ply, extra soft toilet paper with bears smiling on the package to lose them.

• I hate checking the groceries out. I hate when the beeper thing doesn't beep and the worker makes me go run a marathon, cross two oceans, and climb Mt. Everest just to find the same product, hoping the machine detects it, instead of just punching in the serial code.

• I hate when the checker out people aren't polite. But I also hate it when they try to learn everything from where I went to elementary school to how I like my meat cooked.

• I hate that there are forty-six different brands of milk.

• I hate that there is stupid "soft beats" playing from the ugly ceilings. And that the floor is so reflective and bright that it can tan an albino.

• I hate carrying groceries inside from the car. There are about seven million stupid and flimsy plastic bags every time we go, and they each leave scarring on my palms worse than The Joker's face.

Overall, I hate grocery shopping. It stresses me out and whenever I'm done, I just want to take a nap. At least that's a plus side.