It's Saturday morning and you've had a nice, filling breakfast and all you want to do is put the stereo on and listen to your fave band while putting your feet up in the recliner. It's the weekend and you deserve to relax a bit... until the missus bluntly informs you groceries are needed and: "I'm off to do some shopping."

To prove chivalry isn't completely dead, you offer: "D'yer wanna hand, dear?"... hoping like all fech she'll say no: "I'll be alright, dear."

The response is so not what you wanna hear: "Yes dear.", and the next thing you know she's got this vice-like grip on yer forearm and leading you out to the car. She drives because she knows there'll be no detours or delays... no stops at the bookies to place your trifecta while you casually chat with the other blokes about the next race... and the one after that... and the one after.... well you know how it gets when such important odds are in the offing, but simply, you're not gonna be there... not today.

Upon arrival at the complex carpark you spot this group of blokes, and you just know they're talking about cars, sport and other blokey stuff... and just as you're about to walk over to join them, there's this familiar grip on your forearm... leading you into the mall.  No sooner are you inside and she's window shopping, and her first port of call is a jewelry store... like what the fech, you've already given her 2 rings [engagement and wedding] so what more does she want... and then you spot a newsagents. 

"Listen dear, I'll leave you to it while I pop over to the newsagents to see what new sports and auto mags they have in."  That was my third mistake, as the familiar vice like grip attached itself to my forearm. "You're not going over there looking at dirty books with naked women in them" [like how the fech did she know]"you're coming with me."... and the next thing I know I'm being frog-marched down to the boutique area of the mall.

Well this is interesting, all these new fashions and things you see on Veronica's Secret... like high fashion fashion garments all the young ones wear these days and look good in... and next thing she says: "Why can't they make these kinds of things in my size?", and your eyes roll back in your head as you imagine it on her. No, the image is not flattering, and you've been at the complex for almost 3 hours, so you suggest: "What d'yer reckon, love, if we went into the supermarket and got those groceries?"

The response is in the affirmative, thank goodness, and you proceed to the trolley bay, where you try to pick the best of a bad bunch: "Come on, we haven't got all fechin' day!"... after she's just wasted the last 3 1/2 hours fechin' window shopping.... so I grab the very next trolley, which luckily wants to go straight, and head into the store with her. 

Now as we go up and down the aisle collecting the items we need, and there's one in every store every time you wanna shop, there's this young woman with the trolley I desperately wanted to avoid.  Every time we leave one aisle to go into the next, there she is, right at the start of it and in our way.  I mean, it's not her fault, the trolley is bung and she's having great difficulty with it.... and then the catastrophe happens, her trolley takes an unexpected right turn and knocks over a display of baked beans, and we can't get through to continue our shopping.

Now I understood that accidents happen and sometimes you need help, so I proceeded to give the young woman a hand to clear the aisle... yeah, like that was going to happen.  It's not her fault, but this young woman is a size 8 and can fit into all that fashionable gear across the way that the missus can't, so I feel the familiar vice-like grip on my forearm as we take a detour around the next aisle to continue our shopping uninterrupted.

We finally collect all the items on her list and we proceed to the checkout, where I have to stand all red-faced because the poor woman with the uncontrollable trolley pulls up right behind us.  She smiles at me and nods, like she knew that I would have helped had I been allowed, but if looks could kill.  Let's just say I'd be in the market for a new missus. 

I would have offered assistance if the lass had been a size 18, but you could never convince my missus that my intentions were pure, so next time my missus says we need groceries, I'll think "fech that", put my feet up in the recliner and tell her that I'll see her when she gets back.

EDIT and Disclaimer:

This is entirely a work of fiction, as will be any future installments, is intended as a bit of fun and is not based on anyone living or otherwise... meaning zombies are included to cover all my bases.  However, if you in some way believe this piece of fiction is based on you, I suggest you seek counseling while finding another place to shop.... cos showing your face back there is going to attract all sorts of ridicule and further embarrassment.

Furthermore, for those who think I was being disrespectful, I have no issues with plus-size women such as my wife, otherwise I wouldn't have married her.  Admittedly she wasn't my first choice. and if Dolly Parton had been free....  but after 45 years that's irrelevant.... and I don't give a rat's what they say in church about thinking it is as bad as committing the sin, there's eff all wrong with a bit of fantasy.