I’ve just been to ASDA. It’s 11pm Feb 13. The supermarket was very full. Of bewildered and confused men.
This is what happened:
The supermarket was very full. Of bewildered and confused men.
I tried to help by standing next to the flowers and coughing politely at the men buying the cheap chrysanthemums whilst gently fingering some blood-red roses. I then stood dreamily by the very largest and most expensive chocolates licking my lips in what I imagined to be a seductive manner (I fear it may have been misinterpreted as my having a bad cold). I indicated helpfully towards Tom Jones CDs and wiggled my hips to the memory of ‘What’s New Pussycat’.
All in vain I fear. I’d like to apologise to the women of Cardiff for my lack of influential powers.
The queues were long and sinuous. And male. I closely observed the nature of the purchases. This is what the average (I suppose they were average for I didn’t have my x-ray specs on) ASDA shopping man thought would turn their loved ones on:
Man 1: A single sad lily and a box of frozen fish-fingers.
Man 2: Cheap chrysanthemums and some batteries.
Man 3: Milk.
Man 4: A card of the most hideous nature depicting kittens and little hearts
Man 5: Air freshener, toilet cleaner, hoover bags, rubber gloves, champagne, roses, black forest gateaux a bumper box of condoms, and (I kid you not) a kit for moulding your own chocolate bunnies.
Naturally, after having paid for my bananas and kiwi fruit, I followed Man 5 home.
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