Life Would Be Easier If I Never Had to Leave the House, But Also Had a Maid

I despise any and all tasks associated with day-to-day housekeeping. Yeah, I know, huge surprise. Yet I was thoroughly disgusted with myself today when I realized I have a system for unloading the dishwasher.

Me. A system. For unloading the dishwasher. Sure sign of the apocalypse.

For those of you who care, it consists of 1) put away the plates, 2) put away the pans and big bowls that live under the counter, 3) put away the great big knives and utensils that live in that particular drawer, 4) put away the little knives and other stabby-type things in the utensil basket on which I am likely to injure myself, 5) put away remaining silverware, 6) put away miscellaneous small bowls and plastic thingies with lids, and 7) put away the glasses.

The fact that this system has seven steps is now my newest source of shame.

My hatred for household duties extends to running errands. If today's errands hadn't led to some amusing observations and thoughts, about which I was already blogging in my head before I even hit the checkout counter, they would have had virtually no redeeming qualities at all.

SuperTarget can be a wonderland for the budget-conscious shopper, but it still annoys me. Then again, I'm probably not the typical shopper.

For example, they have almost no thigh-high stockings. I find this both inconvenient and upsetting. I went down the hosiery aisle three times before I found any, and those were on clearance, indicating that soon there will be none at all. None of them were black (let alone fishnet), but sometimes you have to make do.

They had plenty of tights (including fishnet), but unless you want to bring them home and modify them in creative and possibly illegal ways, it's better to leave them on the rack. Thigh-highs have obvious advantages - if you don't know what they are, you are too young and/or wholesome, and I'm not about to tell you - and these advantages are not necessarily salacious in nature. Except when they are. (In the case of the pair of stockings that found their way into my cart, let's assume they are.)

They did have a nifty little black camisole covered in fringe, which I had to have because fringe is fun. And it was on clearance. The short black floral print skirt I got to go with it, however, was not on clearance. One WIN + one FAIL = DRAW.

Then, as I was making my way toward the grocery section (because I was out of ketchup... again), a woman raced toward me, several toys in her hands.

Toy Woman: Excuse me, can I ask you a question?
(Does she think I work there? I'm wearing a long, black leather coat and pushing a cart. Probably not. So this is a stranger talking to me. I don't usually even talk to people I know if I can duck out of sight quickly enough. But, whatever.)
Me: (cautiously) Sure.
Toy Woman: Do these look like things that would make a four-year-old happy at a birthday party?
(Perhaps she hasn't noticed that the contents of my cart, which so far include two tubes of mascara, some Benadryl, thigh-high stockings, a black fringed camisole, and a floral print mini-skirt. Do I seriously look like someone who knows the first thing - or gives a rat's ass - about the care, feeding, or entertainment requirements of four year olds? Again... whatever.)
Me: Sorry, I don't do kids.

She charged off, muttering that she had to be at this party in 20 minutes. I assume she accosted some more child-friendly shopper on her way to the checkout counter.

After I located the ketchup and Diet Dr. Pepper, I gave some thought to the fact that it would be nice if I brought home something for dinner. I cruised up and down the aisles looking for something tasty which required virtually no effort on my part, yet did not cost more than the total of all the other items already in the cart. Unfortunately, everything looked more like "ingredients" and less like "dinner," so I gave up. We'll find something here.

It'll be fine, though, because now I have ketchup.