Why is it that when I come home from the store I must carry all of the groceries inside in one trip. It’s like there’s somebody on my shoulder that’s challenging me to grab that last bag, even if it means that my fingers will turn purple from strangulation causing them to look gangrenous.
And if there are stairs that have to be ascended along the journey of overloaded groceries traveling to the regrigerator, then it will make me all the angrier. And I know I’m not the only person who does this. Not only have I seen my siblings do it, but I’ve also been a witness to it when roomates come back from the store loaded with 10 bags in their arms barely able to open the front door.
I ask innocently from the couch, “do you need any help?”
“Do I look like a wuss!? I just carried every grocery in my trunk up five flights of stairs. I’m the man,” is the roomate’s response.
I always enjoy these exchanges because while I’m offering to help, what’s really going on in my head is that I’m hoping he’ll act like a tough guy declining any help from scrawny me. It’s a win for both of us.