I Know You’re Judging Me


Because I am judging you.

Yes you, supermarket man behind me with the basket of steak, crisps and a coffee iced-chill.

Yes, I have three microwave meals in my basket. Yes, I have three cans of expensive cat food, cat toys, scented candles, toilet duck, a block of haloumi, unmentionables from the “personal aisle”, a trashy magazine, painkillers, lightbulbs (hey, have you heard about the Zombie apocalypse – I’m prepared), a toothbrush (am I a hooker?), cat litter (yeah, I’m single and I have a cat, go fuck yourself), cigarettes and four bottles of soda water.

Last week it was all fruit and veg and electronic air-fresheners and I was like “watch me biatches. I have a great life.” Now it’s down to this.

And this, my friends, is why you will Never Ever pick up in a supermarket. Ever.

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About ohhellwhatthehell

I like gin, mittens and otters, not necessarily in that order. Here's some stuff I felt like writing down when I'm not chained to a desk writing other things for a living. Please use caution when using this site; there may be sweary words, cute animals and general bullshit. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.
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