Freakin’ Men

The other day, Hubby and I took the girls out to run some errands. One of our stops was to Costco because the girls totally love the Horizon Organic Chocolate milk boxes (yes, I realize you can make your own chocolate milk at home, but the girls like these, and… whatever). They come in boxes of 18 at Costco, and seeing as how they really groove on these stupid little boxes, I decided to pick up a few boxes.

Knowing, as I do, exactly where the chocolate milk is – and because it was the only thing I needed, I didn’t opt to get a grocery cart. I just piled the boxes up in my arms, and carried them to the cashier. I had left Hubby in the car with the girls while I dashed in – I figured it would take three times as long to bring the whole crew.

The cashier rings me up, and then the guy who would normally refill the cart with the purchases asked me, “Do you want me to put these in a cart for you?”

Um, NO. I carried them this far. I can do it.

“Are you sure? They’re really heavy!”

As I told Hubby later, “I’m not a wuss-baby. I’m BURLY. I can lift my own freakin’ groceries.” Ugh.