“Are you going to the shops?”
“Yes, and the servo to get petrol for the mower.”
“Have you read the shopping list?”
“Yes. And since I have no idea what this Oil of Regenerative Kuratz shit is, or where to find it on the shelves, that’s not happening.”
“Oh my God. Do you want me to take a picture of the bottle for you?”
“Do what you want. It makes no difference. I’m not buying this because I cannot buy this.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Heaps. People laugh at me when I stand in the make-up-and-bitch-cream aisle, staring at countless bottles of hydrochloric monkey youth-excrement, deep-pore sucking-juice, or whatever the fuck lotions you buy to keep yourself looking amazing.”
“They laugh at you?”
“The women sometimes take pity on me and try and help. The men, and they are few and far between in that aisle, kinda chuckle and walk past. But they are all laughing at me. I don’t blame them. A clueless tattooed bear manhandling little bottles of pore-busting lizard gravy in a pointless effort to find the one on the provided list, is hilarious.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“Not at all. I don’t have an embarrassment gland. Have you not seen me shopping in a lingerie store? I am a force of nature!”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“I don’t like feeling stupid. And I feel very stupid trying to locate the correct bottle of whatever the fuck you’ve written down here.”
“What if I asked you to buy tampons?”
“Not a problem. Brand, name, size, and its in the shopping trolly, before being proudly slammed onto the conveyor belt. I am happy to buy arse-grape lotion, too. Hell, if I was incontinent, I’d have no issue buying adult diapers either. But when you send me to buy some exotic facial scrubbing ointment made from the dissolved kidneys of a king-gibbon, I’m unable to comply.”
“I’ll give you a picture.”
“Fuck the picture. It only makes it worse. Stupid man staring at his phone and trying to reconcile what he sees on the screen with what is hidden on the shelves is idiocy manifest.”
“Lots of men look at their phones when shopping.”
“They’re watching TikTok vids of Korean pop-sluts dancing in hot pants.”
“Is that what you look at?”
“Never.”
“You’re lying.”
“Stop making this about me. Does your cruelty have no limit? Shit appears on my feed. I am not always responsible for that.”
“What the fuck are you doing now?”
“I figured a nice hug and kiss before I leave will go a long way in repairing this marriage.”
“Get the fuck away from me.”
“No tongue, I promise.”
“I will kill you with my phone.”
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