In the beginning (circa 1980), cave dweller, Grog, sent forth his wife to shop for a little T-Rex steak—eventually a 7 ton T-Rex returned, but not the wife. Time passed, future wives would return, but now with T-Bone steaks. This turn of events left Grog wondering…
“How wife evolve better than Grog and—where T-Rex?”
This is the question man has been vexed by ever since the dawn of woman, especially when the woman comes back with an SUV jammed full of food. Now, when I go out to grab the groceries, my family has to call for rescue dogs to find me under the avalanche of food that spills out.
Then my wife proudly announces, “And I stayed under budget!”
At this point all I can think to ask is, “Where did the new SUV come from, she left in a five year old two-door sedan?”
For years I’d given my wife a grocery budget to work with; it’s called my entire paycheck…I have no say in the matter, its an accepted rule. Her rule, my acceptance.
Yet, time and time again, she keeps coming back.
Thus began my campaign to get to the bottom of shoppergate. Every time she grabbed the keys to go out shopping for groceries I’d get on my knees, bring my hands together under my chin, and begin begging her to let me go instead. One day, when the tears began streaming down my cheeks, she asked…
“Why do you want to go grocery shopping so much… you hate lines?” I replied, “Because I’m hungry?”
Finally, I was getting to go grocery shopping—and I was doing it willingly, but for one terrifying moment. I feared my wife (thinking I was running a temperature), might reach for the anal thermometer, fortunately, she fainted instead.
“Wal-Mart has a grocery store?” I screamed, while being revived with smelling salts. My wife said, “Yes. WHERE have you been Grog?”
I was half tempted to say, passed out, but thought better of it, for fear of being called a smart-ass. Thus, I avoided a possible concussion from a frying-pan out of nowhere.
So off we both went to Wal-Mart, like two people having just won a chance to be on the original Supermarket Sweep, but with all the time in the world to fill our carts.
We sailed up and down the isles, grabbing everything in sight. Finally we arrived at a self-checkout stand where my wife insisted I bag, and she scan. At first, nothing could have been easier. Item, after item was ran over the scanner by my wife, and with blinding speed.
All of a sudden there was a beep. I paused for only a second, but then continued packing. Then, two carts later, another beep occurred. This time my curiosity was aroused and I stopped my wife, asking her what the beep was for? Without slowing down for a second, she smiled and said…
As instructed, I did as she said, but another beep stopped me dead in my tracks. When I tried to ask ‘whats up’, she grabbed what was in my hand and said, “Just put it in the bag.” I put the last bag into the second cart and turned to see my wife paying the amount owed; $4.78. “What a steal!” I thought.
I had no idea, that is, until I reached the exit where I was confronted by a kindly old gentleman. My wife continued on out. The old man looked at the receipt, then took one look at both carts, smiled at me, and I at him—and now I’m allowed one phone call.
Boy…has my wife evolved!