Nothing sends a red pencil through a shopping list quicker than the sure and certain knowledge that whatever you buy will have to be carried � mile uphill along a snowy path.

Oh yes, our skidoo died. The day before shopping day, of course, the one day when we really need it. At first the spousal unit thought it might just need a new spark plug but when that didn't work he did some more futzing under the hood and has declared it's a fuel pump or carburetor problem.

I, of course, nodded sagely as he told me all this even though, as I'm sure you're all aware, my understanding of the internal combustion engine can be pretty much summed up with the words "Me turn key, car go vroom".

It's not that I couldn't understand engines if I wanted to, it's just that they bore me stiff. The Marnmobile is a thing to get me from A to B. I keep it tuned up, get the oil changed every 5K, make sure tire pressure and fluid levels are fine but I do not feel any need to understand what makes it go vroom, an attitude the spousal unit considers pure wackiness.

And thus, he gently tries to explain the mysteries behind the vroom. And I, of course, let these mysteries flow over me, all the while nodding sagely as if I am truly absorbing the wonder of it all.

Now where was I? Oh yeah. So this afternoon I turned the key in the Marnmobile, car went vroom, and I found myself at the grocery store carefully contemplating just what I wanted to eat enough that I was willing to carry it � mile uphill on a snowy path.

Pork tenderloin was on sale at an insanely low price and normally I would stock up on five or six of them because, really, can you ever have enough loin in your life? My thoughts, exactly. And besides, it's such a tender meat it makes the most incredible stir fry ever. But today I grudgingly limited myself to two.

I kept picking up things, hefting them, and often putting them back on the shelf. Even though it is stupidly heavy, I refused to cut back on the fresh produce. Life is not worth living without your fresh produce. When I was through the check out I found myself with about 2/3 usual haul of groceries, eight bags.

Eight bags. Oh man. The full enormity of those eight bags hit me when I hauled them out of the shopping cart and deposited them in the trunk of the Marnmobile. They were heavy. I was going to be forced to use my pretty gym muscles For Actual Work. I know. I was as sick about this as I'm sure you are.

The spousal unit told me this morning before he headed off to work that he'd carry half the groceries up, just leave them for him. But the thing is, he works as a carpenter and many days he's very, very tired. Me, I work at a keyboard all day, far less physically demanding.

So I decided that I would leave him two bags. Ah, but what to put in those two bags? At first I was going to be completely selfless and leave him really light stuff such as bready goodness and tea and such like but when I hefted my six remaining bags all that selflessness quickly went up in smoke.

More rummaging in bags, more re-arranging. I gave him the two litre carton of soymilk and the two litre carton of milk, which each weigh, oh, about half a ton each. I took back the sticky buns which weigh, oh, the equivalent of six feathers. I hefted my six bags. Still stupidly heavy.

Probably not any heavier than some of the metal I haul around at the gym, but I think we can all agree that a strict line must be drawn between the world of the gym and actual work.

More rummaging in bags, more re-arranging. I gave him the big bag of apples and two smaller bags, one with clemetines, the other with grapes. I took back the baguette and the box of tea. Shut up. All's fair in love and grocery haulage. I hefted my six bags. It seemed doable.

Which it was, barely. I got up to our house and I realized just how artificial all those hours I spend Going Nowhere and hauling heavy bits of metal are because I can tell you that walking � mile uphill with six bags of groceries tuckered me right out.

Clearly, pretty gym muscles should never, ever be put to practical use.

In other news, I wish to declare that my three loyal readers are all geniuses. Seriously. It's like having my own little Mensa club to tap into any time I need it.

Yesterday I mentioned my problems with pilling the cat. My three loyal readers told me to grab the cat by the scruff of the neck, that that would relax her and make dumping the meds down her throat much easier.

When I repeated this to the spousal unit there was much scoffage because the spousal unit does not understand the genius that is my three loyal readers whereas I, I have seen the light.

So this morning I sidled up to Eeny, who immediately turned into a coiled spring of Oh You Are So Not Getting A Pill Into Me, and carried her to our bed. The cat began to squirm and I could barely hold her. As instructed, I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, gently tipped her up (her back feet were still on the bed), and lo and behold a miracle occurred. The cat went limp, completely unable to move her front paws or struggle. The spousal quickly pried open her mouth, she tried to nip him, but he got the pill in and down quickly.

He held her mouth closed as we'd been instructed to do by my Genius Readers, stroked her throat so she would swallow and that was it. The whole ordeal was followed by much petting and praise for how brave Enid had been. We had similar success tonight. I'm trying to track down a pill gun, but even with out it dosing the fuzzbutt with her antibiotics has switched from being pure torture to just a minor annoyance.

Man, but I love this internet place.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 230.68 miles. Duckage. My joy knows no bounds.