Because I only needed a few things and had been weakened by plaintive cries of “don’t put me in a trolley! I won’t touch any-fing!”, Tilly strutted through the supermarket this morning. Wooed by what I calculated would be at least an 80% reduction in whinging, I failed to consider: The 75% increase in time taken from entry to checkout, The 82% surge in my yelling (most of which was solely devoted to shouting “put that down!” in the egg and wine sections), A solid 36% more shin bruising thanks to her basket being swung about with gay abandon, An 8% price hike due to a little chocolate egg being snuck in when I wasn’t looking (to be fair, that probably happened while I was ferreting Creme Eggs deep under the bread bag hoping she wouldn’t notice), And a 147% spike in adrenaline when she momentarily disappeared as I was swiping the credit card. Numbers are not my strong point.