We’ve all done it. Grocery store dashes. Oh, we just need like, maybe, one thing… at max three. And against our better judgment, we don’t even grab one of those little arm baskets. We are going to limit our intake of groceries to weight we can carry. This is where a true lack of judgment comes in; how much your arms can carry. On this particular trip, I brought back-up: ‘skinny, 7-year-old little girl arms back-up,’ but back-up nonetheless. We had almost made it and then I saw the Diet Coke on sale.
Anyone that knows my husband knows how he can drink some serious Diet Coke. I don’t buy it very often for the house but when I catch a sale, I just can’t resist. The key to these little conniving little sales is that if I buy one, it is $1.25 per bottle but if I buy five, they are $1 each! Well, being the math whiz that I am not, but the shopper that I am… I proceeded to load up the remaining space of my arms.
Little known fact. When a two-liter of pop is dropped and hit juuuuust right, it can jet propel itself quite some distance, say the distance across a grocery store. My little darling diva 7-year-old let out a squeal and jumped out of the torpedo’s line drive just in time to watch it go sailing from the carbonated beverage aisle to the bakery, spewing Diet Coke all over us and everything in its path. I wanted to chase after it but I return to my first problem: arm space and the amount of “necessary” items that I had somehow rounded up.
Eyes all wide, little darling looked at me and said, “You made the mess, you clean it up.”
Not exactly the time to have my words come back to haunt me and I really just was glad that no one was around to be hurt by the thing.
We went to check out and I told the cashier that I had dropped a bottle of pop over by the bakery… and aisles 2, 4, 6, and a little on 8.
Then I realized the horror. I had only four bottles of Diet Coke!!! I would be charged that extra quarter per bottle! I sent little sassy pants back over to get the fifth bottle where she met Mr. Clean Up. Of course, upon carrying her bottle of pop tightly in her bony arms she comes back to tell me that the guy was there to clean up and “I told him that my mom did that.”
Moral of the story: Two-liters of pop can become weapons (even without Mentos) and loose lips sink ships, or in my case, never let your kid witness your crime or they will sing like a canary.