A bloke came up to me in Sainsburys and said "You've bought too much, hahahaha!"
Yeah, my trolley was full, but it was a small trolley, and it was full mainly with three bulky items. And I only had one more thing to get and then I'd be finished.
Of course, now I'm the bitch who tells a sweet old man to mind his own bloody business and fuck off.
How can anyone possibly judge someone else's shopping to be *too much*. There are just too many variables: you don't know a stranger's household size, you don't know if they're expecting company, or in my case, you don't know how long it's been since they've done a round-up of household goods. Oh crikey, I'm so profligate, me and my washing-up liquid, baked beans, teabags and, yeah, okay, 2 for £1 on Mr Kipling Viennese Whirls.
Oh I know, I guess he's lonely, he was only trying to be friendly, blah-de-blah. Big fucking deal. Why did he pick on me, a lone woman trying to whizz round after work rather than one of the numerous couples with bigger and just as full trolleys. Creepy sod. I'm sick of being the nice person who nods and smiles at men who think that women exist just for their amusement.
