To Market, To Market

I had a grand time in the supermarket last Friday. I managed to wangle a ride from The Hubby to SM Bicutan, and I spent an hour and a half working my way systematically through the Hypermart (what makes it a hypermart versus a supermart? How small does it have to be to be a mini mart? Does anybody ever shop at a plain "mart" these days?).

For me, going grocery is not a matter of zipping through the aisles getting the stuff you need. When done properly, going grocery is therapy. I start at the far end of the grocery, the side opposite the frozen/raw stuff. Then I push my cart up and down each and every aisle. I even pass through the aisles that have nothing I remotely need, like the diapers and baby milk section. Very Zen.

I enjoy looking at the variety. I enjoy comparing products and prices, making sure you get the best value for your money. And I like the challenge of making purchases fit in a predetermined budget (though I 'd like it better to shop without a care for the budget. When I'm rich, I will barrel into a grocery sans calculator and get what I want. Now that's a goal). I like the satisfaction of crossing things off my shopping list (and I like the inherent sneakiness of buying things that are not in the list, and then adding the item to the list after, and still crossing it out).

I miss going grocery with my sister Rix. Since we're both too big to fit in the cart, we make do with balancing on the front end of the cart while the other one pushes. And if there are not too many people around, we also enjoy testing the road-worthiness of the cart, zipping down the aisles, executing sudden turns and stops. If there's major traffic in the aisles, we content ourselves cracking an imaginary whip at whoever is pushing while calling out, "Shum! Shum!" (the opposite of Mush! Mush!, since we're facing the wrong direction).

Another thing I miss about going grocery with Rix is the innate silliness of it all. I remember smelling the Rexona Powder Scent Deodorant everytime we went to the store, and agreeing each time that it smelled awful. But that didn't stop us from smelling it again next time. Or the time that she begged me to buy monggo seeds--so we could grow our own bean sprouts--from aisle 7 to aisle 32. I finally gave in, and the resulting sprouts were subsequently eaten by a mouse.

Riding on the grocery cart is perhaps one thing that The Hubby wouldn't be caught dead doing. And like most males, he can't understand the logic of going through each aisle. And so far when we do go grocery, there's a bit of quibbling as we work out compromises on taste, preferences, likes and dislikes. But with each grocery trip we work it out.