Can I just say, Mary and her son have a whole frigging bunch to answer for.
Shopping trolleys would potentially be the first thing I’d have a stern chat to Mary about. Honestly, I bet during her pregnancy she didn’t think, “Ooooh, I wonder how many women will be driven bat-shit crazy looking for Target shopping trolleys five days prior to my son’s birthday?”.
Nope. Not even a thought was it?
Mary, I hate to say it, but Jesus Paul Mary and Joseph, you should have seen the kerfuffle over freaking shopping trolley’s today.
I went a little schizoid at Target when they offered me one of those baskets that have wheels on it. Yeah… no trolleys so a glorified miniature wheelbarrow will do.
Do you think the $49 freaking 40kg dart board and all the other useless crap I’ll buy – on my way to said dart board – will fit into that two-wheeled ankle death trap?
I don’t think so.
I want one of those shiny red lightweight Target (slightly smaller than Kmart) super-easy to manage trolleys.
And I’m sorry, but the whole “if you just wait for 15 minutes or so, our 80 year old trolley boys are getting the trolley’s right now” just doesn’t cut it with me.
A possessed Christmas-shopping mother does not wait at the front of Target, randomly picking up nicely wrapped chocolate boxes waiting for the trolley dude.
Mmmm… what to do? I eye the trolley-pushing shoppers and instantly feel red mist clouding my eyes. There’s a mother with a 10 year-old kid in their trolley.
TEN YEARS OLD!
Jesus F’ing Christ – sorry Mary, I’m sure F’ing wasn’t really his middle name…
Seriously… RED FARKING MIST.
Here’s a free tip….if you’re child is out of nappies, off the boob and talking in sentences, get them the hell out of that Target trolley.
I see a lady with a watermelon in a TROLLEY.
A WATERMELON. IN. A. TROLLEY.
Red mist and a feeling of wanting to go all Yum Cha on her engulfs me.
Get the watermelon the hell out and put some Target crap in there. Don’t be walking around with a pretend baby that’s a fucking watermelon, woman! Go all Jennifer Grey/Dirty Dancing and carry that puppy around with you like a normal person.
Next on my list. Old People.
I’m really sorry, but a trolley is not a walking frame. I know it’s much easier than a zimmer, but seriously, it’s five days before Christmas, my kids are on a play date and I have literally three hours to do all my Santa stuff. Give a woman a break and use the f’ing zimmer as God intended and give your damn trolley to me.
I now decide to take a leap of faith and go out to the car park in search of a trolley.
Red mist again attacks my vision when I see the trolley bloke out there in a cloud of ciggy smoke.
I then start to hyperventilate when I see the 412 Target trolleys sitting neatly like bored Port Kembla hookers on a Monday night waiting for their next John.
I wonder if they still even call them John’s, or should I stop watching old Law and Order SVU episodes?
For some irrational reason I race a 90 year old to the first one, stick my handbag in the front and go back in to start my pressie shopping.
That trolley came to the car to unload with me three times, the toilet twice (I’ve had three kids press on my bladder) and I even caressed her a few times for being so loyal.
Ho Ho Ho indeed.