The Tao of supermarkets

Aha! I knew the supermarket moan below would give me at least one creative thought this weekend. The last 48 hours haven’t been a total waste.

The thought: I’ve just realised that every relationship I’ve had for the last ten years has been a dating one rather than a living one. Basically, every time I see a woman I’m with it’s some sort of event: restaurant, cinema, show, something date-like rather than just kicking back and enjoying each other’s company. Even nights at my place tend to be pre-planned with table settings and bath bombs at the ready; I must be Lush‘s highest-grossing non-gay male customer.

I am the Tesco’s Finest of boyfriends, everything packed and wrapped and ready to eat. While high quality with a wide variety of options, once you’ve chosen your option, you know exactly what you’re getting: no surprises. A date with me is a tested recipe, carefully selected ingredients prepared with care and absolutely zero bloody spontaneity.

I dunno, shouldn’t I just… relax or something?

Which brings me back to supermarkets. That Sunday morning thing of wheeling a trolley round the aisles and deciding together what to have for dinner… not worried too much about how you look or what time it is… that’d actually be quite nice, wouldn’t it?

Have to give it a try. After all, what could be cooler – what could better demonstrate to a woman that you have nothing to prove – than asking her to go to the supermarket with you?

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