My husband has so much work on at the moment which is a GREAT THING. When you run a small business you have to ride the ups and downs. At the moment it’s an up, but for me it turns into a bit of a downer as suddenly I’m thrust into 1950s housewife mode. And seeing that I am a crap cook, don’t iron and dislike anything to do with floors, it’s not my strong point.

This weekend I’m feeling it even more as with my husband away for work with one car and the other car forgetfully left at the mechanics – I am car-less with three small children. I feel like I am a virtual prisoner in my own home; locked in a house with three tormentors who are obsessed with me. Three tormentors who follow me around and demand things from me constantly.

I swear yesterday was the longest day in the history of all days.

It was such a long day that when my husband popped home in between work trips I high-fived him and legged it to the supermarket. Since when has doing the supermarket shopping on a Saturday afternoon been considered “taking a rest”?

So, instead of fielding my kids’ never-ending demands, I was wondering around the supermarket in a state of happy vagueness. I even stood aside when the dude started running, so he could pass me in the toilet paper aisle. I bet he drives a Holden Commodore and always speeds up when people try to pass him. He was a knob. I felt like yelling out to him: “Dude, chill out man, it’s not a race. Having to wait 5 seconds near the detergent isn’t going to shrink your balls. You are still a man. Now pass me the loo deodoriser.” But I didn’t do any of those things, I just stood aside leaning on my trolley thinking how wonderful it was to be all by myself. There was no way I was rushing home.

I even picked the longest queue to stand in. I wasn’t alone, there were women everywhere reading magazines with smiles on their faces.

As the extraordinarily slow checkout boy was putting my groceries into bags, I noticed the elderly couple behind me. They were in their 80s or maybe 100s. They were wearing the neatest, pressed, matching white leisure suits with soft, white leather shoes. He had a comb-over wig. I shit you not, a comb-over wig – is that what you do when you get to a certain age – get wigs that are age appropriate?

His wife had a purple rinse wig perched delicately on her small head. She was wearing pristine white gloves. I say pristine, but then she did it. She did something I was not expecting. She picked a booger out of her nose. I gagged a little, but got distracted by the fact I’d inadvertently stolen a bag of baked goods which I quickly scooped out of the trolley and handed to the checkout boy.

And then it happened, the Seinfield moment. The bag slipped onto the floor and as quick as a fox, the woman lent down and picked it up for me with the nose picking hand. The little snot sitting delicately on her gloved fingers.

I knew right then that it was time to put an to end my escape from house arrest and return to my own little people with their snotty fingers.

Do you escape to the shopping centre to get some time out or am I the only person without a full life?

bigwords x