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I LIKE TO think I’m impervious to a hard sell. That I’m wise to pink tax and strong enough to resist obvious clickbait tactics. But once upon a time, in a moment of weakness, I bought a Scrub Daddy, an ‘original sponge’, and this is what happened…
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Unless ten minutes of intense examination followed by pushing desert spoons through its smug gurning face counts. The moon-faced sponge did not improve the washing-up experience, nor did it entice anyone else in the house to try it out.
There have been other occasions when I was persuaded to part with good money on an item I did not need. Tipsy me has been known to treat sober me to an online purchase or three. Makeup brushes, perfume dupes swearing to be just like the real thing for a fraction of the cost, ill-fitting clothing, toys for my dogs that were chewed up and/or ignored, are just some of the rubbish the postman had to take time out of his busy working day to deliver.
One time, I was seduced by a complicated mincing contraption, alleging that my baby’s organic potatoes would be mashed into such velvety loveliness, all of my weaning worries would disappear. They weren’t. They didn’t, and he continued to prefer eating cardboard.
Have you heard of a piddle pad? I’ll save you the bother of Googling. A piddle pad is a gizmo comprising absorbent layers to be placed on your child’s car seat during the toilet training years. Yes, as your granny might say, “there was a big window in that shop”, they saw me coming. Look, I was a first-time mother and my head was turned at every shiny baby thing, and I had no cop on at all. But that was then, and this is now.
Now I blame the middle aisles in Lidl and Aldi, homes to Kevin the carrot and his expanding family and giant inflatable pink doughnuts complete with sprinkles. Both places are a veritable Aladdin’s cave of delightful fripperies, novelty items and unexpected finds. I am willing to wager you didn’t know you needed an egg chair in your life until it showed up in the middle aisle.
But do we really need it? The middle aisle.
At the risk of dividing the nation, what’s so good about it anyway? Discuss.
Someone I know, who I am married to, purchased an inflatable paddle board for the annual family beach holiday. The thing lived under the bed for weeks. Then, three days before kick-off, it was discovered that an oar was not included. Furthermore, it emerged that a valve of the unicorn variety was required for inflation. Oh, and a special pump.
Many road miles were travelled searching for the missing necessary accoutrements. All of it adding additional cost to the initial pocket-friendly middle aisle purchase.
Another person I am very well acquainted with, because she happens to have given birth to me, reckons the person she lives with is like a five-year-old with the Ken Black catalogue when the middle aisle leaflets drop out of the newspapers. A pen is found, and many happy minutes are spent studying the specials due to arrive that coming week. Allow me to casually include an observation that the middle aisle is well known for being particularly attractive to men.
It must run in the family because currently, I am consumed by a slicer dicer thingummy bob that promises to take my slicing and dicing attempts to the next level. And the best bit? It’s only €9.99. So when, not if, when, it gets relegated to the place where all the other Spontaneous Useless Purchases (SUP) go, I won’t feel too out of pocket.
But look. The house is filled with SUP’s including a flame burner yoke that kills your weeds (It was used once. On the day of purchase. On three dandelions. They are still alive). A sewing machine (Never used. Couldn’t tell you where it is now). Plastic lids for bowls (They didn’t fit). A pop-up tent for the beach (It blew away), and an abandoned waffle maker (Lightly used. Too much palaver involved, and no one wanted to clean up. No surprise there).
However, in the interest of balance and fairness, there are one or two success stories. Our very first air fryer was brought home from the middle aisle. We all fell madly in love with it, realised we had arrived seriously late to this particular party, and promptly upgraded to a much larger one. So there is that. And unlike the Scrub Daddy, this is one kitchen appliance I could not be without. I have finally managed to outsource the cooking of most of the meals to the boys.
My beloved cold frame was another excellent find. And when people comment on a favourite dress, not unlike a much spendier one from an online fashion retailer, I get a real buzz when I reply, “thanks, hun. Specials aisle.”
Is there anything that cannot be found in the middle aisle? I may have stumbled upon something. When my kids were much younger, I had no option but to take them to the supermarket with me. They considered the towering stacks of toilet paper and kitchen towels their own personal climbing wall.
It was both a challenge and a workout bringing them into the store with me. After one harrowing visit whilst paying the nice young man at the till, I looked pointedly in the direction of my kids and enquired in jest, were there, by any chance, electric cattle prods in stock.
The cashier paused in the counting out of my change, looked up, his brow furrowed and in total seriousness said, “Did you check the leaflet? They might be coming in on Thursday.”
So, to answer my own question, do we really need the middle aisle?
Yes, we do. We totally do.
Gwen Loughman is the gatekeeper of four boys, one husband and a watcher over two dogs.
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