My greatest enjoyment or amusement rather can be found in the many faces of the men dragged to the supermarket ( silently kicking and screaming) by their women. The looks on their faces, priceless, expressive (they tell a story - with very few lines); they say things like - "what the fuck woman, hurry up." and "what the fuck did I get myself into here." Somewhere in the minds of some women this is something the men should do, should want to do (like that scene from that movie with Jennifer Ainston where she tells her guy - "I want you to want to do the dishes" - really, who the fuck wants to do dishes, you do it cause you must) and should like doing. Clearly some women have read one two many Harlequinn novels or just forgot to send us men the memo on how we should enjoy the experience of shopping; it's quality time.
You see these men slumped over the shopping carts, labouring down every aisle, and with every shelf, every rotation of the wheel, the cart becomes more burdensome. The poor man's face gets longer, contorted by the bleats, his patience wanes. But the woman is seemingly oblivious to this and attempts to have conversation (seriously, is she freaking kidding) or none at all (which we would prefer sometimes anyway); with practically every step something is added to the cart and the poor bastard can't wait to get to the bloody cashier, pay his hard earned cash and have this ordeal ended.
It's amusing to see the various expressions and depictions of misery on the faces of men at that time of the month; I think some would prefer dealing with PMS than the supermarket.
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