Women who stand in a supermarket checkout queue either staring into space or have their face pressed into their mobile phone texting some kind of banality to their friends. Only when they have packed their shopping into their bags do they then decide to root about their handbag looking for either money or their debit card. The vacuous bints always look like a startled deer caught in the headlights when the checkout operator quite rightly asks them for money. Out comes the make up, keys, phone, fucking money-off vouchers, cuddly toy, fanny pads, old receipts, and hankies before they locate their means of payment.
I, and dare I say it, the rest of the male species stand in the fucking queue holding my debit card or a suitably sized note in my hand, ready for the forthcoming monetary transaction. Gets on my nads time after time.