Husband Tries His Hand on Week-end Shopping Mission

Gisborne Herald, Volume LXXVI, Issue 22887, 5 March 1949, Page 3

Husband Tries His Hand on Week-end Shopping Mission

I had a horrible, unforgettable experience recently—l did the week-end shopping for my wife. . , , A sprained ankle kept her m bed. Orders streamed from her bedroom in such a torrent it seemed like a general's headquarters on the eve of a big battle, •writes Alf Brown in the Melbourne Herald. “I want you to do the week-end shopping,’’ she said to me one Friday afternoon. “It’s quite easy, even you should be able to manage it." Thorough briefed, I left for Smith street full of confidence and instructions. First call was the butchers. It was crowded with women and looked like a pre-war Monday morning basement bargain sale. It took me 10 minutes to reach the counter and another 10 to catch the butcher's eye. Injuries received on the journey to the counter were grazed ribs—a shopping basket nicked me there —and a heavy elbow in the back. I consulted my shopping list. “I want a pound of tender, fillet steak,’’ I announced. . “And that's just what you'll get, sir, boomed the butcher heatily. “My steaks are so tender they bruise when you pick them up.” He laughted uproariously. The fruit shop was next and it presented a nasty problem. Tomatoes were 1/|, 1/6 and 2/- a pound. “What's the difference.’’ I asked. The green-grocer looked affronted. “They’re all good,” he said with dignity and turned away to serve someone else. Even 1 knew there must be some difference, but it was hard to detect it. The tomatoes all looked alike. 'I decided to take no risks. I bought a pound of the 2/- ones. (This latter caused a violent domestic scene. “Oh, so.nothing but the best for you," said my wife, looking more hurt than when she first injured her ankle. “I slave and scrimp all the week and then _ you go out and spend 2/- on tomatoes.”) “A nice, plain sponge,” was the next I was really confident about this one. Just inside the door of the cakeshop I was confronted by a small boy. He took a firm grip of my trousers, just below the knee, and bellowed. “Jackie wants an ice-cream, Jackie wants an ice-cream.”

Jackie's performance was a striking one. Every head in the shop turned to watch. I didn't know whether to briish Jackie off. ignore him or capitulate. I capitulated and bought him an ice-cream cone.

Making horrible sucking noises with the ice-cream, Jackie quickly left the shop.

A moment later there was a scream and ah irate woman stuck her head round the door. She shook a massive fist at me. “You monster, you ought to be locked up, trying to steal my Jackie,” she yelled. There were angry murmurings from the assembled shoppers. I lost all interest in sponges and departed hurriedly. Jackie kicked me smartly on the ankle as I dashed out.

Things were much easier next time. My wife did the shopping from a wheelchair!