Written by David Golbert Friday, 30 April 2010 00:00
It started out as an uneventful Sunday morning. Gail asked me if I wanted to go with her to the supermarket to pick up the seven items that were on our running grocery list hanging on the refrigerator door. I said, “Sure,” and my life was never the same.
When I do the grocery shopping by myself, if there are seven items on the list, I come home with seven items. Okay, maybe eight or nine. Occasionally 10. When I go shopping with Gail, seven items becomes 14, if I’m lucky.
Everything seemed fine until we got to the checkout line. The woman working the cash register scanned our items as I bagged. The last item to be scanned was a 24-roll package of toilet paper and since it wouldn’t fit in the standard supermarket plastic bag, the cashier put a “paid” sticker on it and I placed it our wagon.
This apparently gave Gail an idea. She asked the cashier for another “paid” sticker and without any warning stuck it to the back of my jacket. Gail thought this was enormously funny. The cashier thought it was enormously funny. Both women laughed.
Not one to spoil a good time, I left the sticker there. As friends, acquaintances, and total strangers have pointed out in the past three weeks, I’m lucky the sticker didn’t say “kick me.”
I think “paid” is appropriate as we approach our 18th anniversary. I just hope she got her money’s worth.