I want to go on record and publicly voice my disapproval of the mini-shopping carts that have been systematically replacing hand baskets in many super-markets.
I have always found the entire shopping experience to be emasculating enough without having to push around something that looks like it belongs as part of a shopping themed Barbie-Doll set.
The hand basked has historically provided men with an alternative to pushing an entire shopping cart. And unless you carried it in crook of your elbow, you could still pull off a pretty manly look, while shopping for baby food, organic soy milk and feminine hygiene products.
Now with the advent of these mini-carts, your only choice is to pick between carts, or do like I do and load up 50 lbs of groceries in your arms and then try to casually walk around with your neck veins popping out as you strain to carry 2 gallons of milk, a large cantaloupe, a jumbo pack of toilet paper, a bundle of bananas, a loaf of bread and a family pack of chicken thighs.
My only comfort comes from seeing 5 other guys in the checkout line; veins popping, beads of sweat gathering on their foreheads, refusing to give in to the mini-cart craze. As we exchange subtle gestures of solidarity, my milk jugs and the cantaloupe somehow begin to feel lighter.