Trolley shaming is the scourge of supermarkets everywhere

"You must be having a biiiig party," the check-out lady said very loudly in the busy supermarket as I gingerly unpacked the mountain of  food from not one, but two overloaded trolleys.

Hailing two assistants to help with the packing, I was reminded of a sausage machine. Goods rolling in at one end and out the other in neat plastic bags as I heaved 12 bulk packs of boerewors onto the counter, stacking them neatly one on top of the other in a tower that dwarfed the cashier and the till. It was just like the perfect building blocks of a potentially winning game of Jenga.

Was shopping for groceries about playing a game? No, I was feeling extremely sheepish and vulnerable about the gross excess of my purchases.

Packing out the batons of garlic bread like swords in a criss-cross pattern on top of the boerewors seemed like a perfect foil for all the meat. Except this pile was balanced like a precarious scaffolding on the verge of collapse as the cashier could not process the sale fast enough.

Willing it not to fall, there was lots more to come - lamb chops, rump steaks, marinated pork ribs, containers of peppermint crisp caramel pudding, ready-made salads - for a braai vast enough to feed a nation.

It was one of those moments where you didn't have to turn around to pick up the vibes from the long queue of impatient shoppers willing the world to swallow you up. Their faces said it all; their thoughts like speech bubbles in a comic book rising from their heads.

I imagined they went something like this: "Wow, she has a lot of money to spend on food in these tough economic times," from the tweezer-lipped lady right behind me.

Or the trendy gym-geared person clutching a basket of healthy goods. "No wonder she's overweight, look at all that food!"

Or the two whispering to each other: "Look at all that meat. Do you think she's Banting?"

Then there was the man with that knowing smile. "Isn't she the lady with a cooking show on TV?" And another: "No, she's the one who writes the recipes for the newspaper. I can't believe the amount of ready-made food she's buying. Can't she cook?"

Enough of these negative lashings. Back to the job at hand.

So what is all this grocery shopping about? Not for a growing family, nor a great windfall. Not stocking up for the festive season, but rather the unenviable monthly ritual of shopping for The Sunday Times Food Awards which started a year ago. The format is to invite readers, in groups of 50 at a time, and bring them together to taste and compare convenience foods from different retailers in a blind tasting.

So the shopping is all in a day's work for me (or a couple of days as I scout around looking for the right amount of each product from each store) and the more familiar it becomes, the more I wish I could put a sign on my back explaining what I am doing.

In days of yore it could have been described as the ultimate retail therapy without spending a cent of your own money. No ways, this kind of shopping requires real therapy to restore my self-esteem. It also requires stamina, patience and a thick skin.

I won't share the harrowing experience (well, in my head) of when I had to go out and purchase children's ready-made meals. A trolley load of convenient individual meals did nothing for my feelings of embarrassment - or my reputation - as I heard one millennial whisper to another: "Does she ever cook her children (or grandchildren) a meal from scratch? Not even something as simple as spaghetti bolognaise?"

And then there was the time I had to shop for the cake and pastry tasting. Well, that's another whole story ...