I really don't know what inspired the "Don't worry I'll do it" comment, but its comments like that that cause no end of strife, which was why I was found in a massive hypermarket having a good go at a nervous breakdown as swarms of trolleys pushed by maniacs desperate to get a good stock of food in just in case they ran out as the shop closed for 44 hours over Christmas closed in on my ever decreasing personal space.
Bipeds deserving of dayglo warnings like wide load stickers on their backsides struggled with over laden trolleys full of seasonal calorific excesses, some were so concerned that the apocalyptic hell of closed signs would mean starvation that they had three trolleys in a convoy system, one particular family from hell had three trolleys in a row across the gangway while chubsters grasped at last minute must haves.
I sought sanctuary in the soap and detergent aisle, the only clear floor space in the place, why did I volunteer to get the food shop? Why didn't I just cut myself instead, it would be less painful. I gathered my thoughts, I was here so my beautiful and oh so patient wife didn't have to be, I was here to get the Christmas dinner essentials, sprouts, and I was here because I had seen an advert telling me that the present I wanted to by my better half was here, half price.
So I manned up, shoved the trolley into the fast lane and took the blows to the ankle, didn't complain when the 12 year old operating the till I started to unload my almost purchases on to happily told me they were closing after serving the smug git in front of me and I single handedly saved the planet by using a card box instead of plastic bags.
On leaving the store I took a standing ovation from the crowd, packed Vic, replaced the trolley, donated the £1 coin needed to unleash the wire beast to charity, took the long way out of the car park so a granny could have my parking space (reversing for her was not an option) and very pleased with myself made it back to HQ, proud that for once, just for once I had completed my Christmas shop without mad rush to the late night garage Christmas Eve.
Back at the ranch I regaled the patient one with tales of slain dragons, of wrongs righted, of daring do's done. She listened carefully and forgave the minor discretion's like no lemonade. I had done well.
Except for that sudden nagging feeling.
The one you get when you know you have done something incredibly stupid.
Like leave your wife's Christmas present in the shopping trolley.