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My list is all done, I stand in the kitchen and stare.
To the Supermarket I'm off, It feels like a dare.
The very thought of that place, brings a chill to my bones.
Walking up and down Isles with all the other drones.

The parking lot is my first bad indication,
as I reverse park the van causing other drivers indignation.
Really everyone! have some patience if you please.
They're all itching to get past, like a dog scratching fleas.

I don't believe in using trolleys, a basket will do just fine.
Just a few things to get. Ooh, don't forget the rice wine.
Now my basket is full and I haven't quite finished yet.
The milk under my armpit is all slippery and wet.

Both arms are full and I can feel the strain.
Standing in line at the checkout and my strength starts to wain.
Squeezing a bit tighter, I just need to hold on a little more.
Then that bag splits and apples dance across the floor.

A kindly lady, (with a trolley!) see's that I'm in need.
Picks up the apples, including the one squeezed with my knees.
As this drama unfolded, I became suddenly aware.
The milk under my armpit went off like a flare.

When the milk was unleashed, she copped it full in the face.
I quickly turned away, giving the man behind a little taste.
The poor lady stood horrified, milk dripping from her hat.
I couldn't help but say, "Do you want Milo with that?"

Soggy groceries in hand, at home I arrived.
A stoic look on my face, only I knew was contrived.
The wife unpacked the bags, said, "The milk isn't here"
Oh, I must have forgot, could you go back for me dear?

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