It is the day after our return from our 2 week holiday. The washing mountain rivals Everest and I am consequently wearing an unfortunate sartorial combination with green tights and ankle boots, reminicient of a Christmas elf.
It is in this state that I tackle the Big Shop, although mercifully alone, for a change. It’s also the first day of our Budget and I spend 40 minutes mentally keeping a cummulative total of the shopping, occasionally muttering random numbers to the bemusement of fellow shoppers. When I arrive at the checkout, it seems the cashier recognises me (presumably as the one who usually has 4 children who are not in school) and realises that I by myself.
“Ooh, having some “me time” without the children?” she asks.
I look at her, and then I double-check, but yes, I am still in a supermarket with a trolley of groceries and then I look to see if she is joking but I think she genuinely means it.
“Erm, in Tesco??” I venture.
Is this what my life has come to? “Me time” in the place where Every little helps?