The Thief Within

I don't often ask Y to do the grocery shopping. For one thing, he always buys way too much, and it's always the wrong stuff. He stocks up on whipped cream, pudding, lemonade, tortilla chips, and steaks, while skipping necessities like paper towels, diapers, bananas, pizza bagels, fish sticks, string cheese - you know, the air that my kids breathe.

It doesn't help if you call his cell while he's at the store to refresh his memory of your list, nor if you write it down: whatever it is you wanted will somehow manage to slip his mind the minute he sees the frozen French toast sticks he's been missing all his life.

I know it's not deliberate sabotage, because nobody would choose to be chewed out by their wife upon returning home the way I do him. French toast or not - it ain't worth it.

He's just a little inept at the job. For the reasons above. I never anticipated, however, that there'd be a new, even more compelling reason not to send him without me, and one that holds at stake my very integrity as a person. Namely, that if he shops, I become a thief.

Here's what happened, and in all fairness, it's not Y's fault at all. It's Elan's. Or maybe mine...You can decide. I sent Y to the store on the morning of the Fourth of July to collect what we needed for that evening's barbecue. I asked him to take Elan with him and he did.

Apparently, upon approaching the checkout, Elan asked if they could just steal everything instead of paying. Audibly. And the cashier was paying attention.

Embarrassed, Y went, "Of course not, Elan! We never steal! Why would you say that?"
And Elan answered, just as seriously, "Well my Mommy steals at the grocery all the time!"
Like, what are you, chicken?

Now the cashier was REALLY listening.
Y: "Of course your mother doesn't steal. You must be confused about something."
E: "No, I'm not. She does - she steals! We go to the grocery store, and she takes stuff without paying for it. We just take it! We don't pay."
Patiently, indulgently. Spelling it out for Y, who clearly just didn't understand what stealing was.

By now the cashier was beyond benign eavesdropping - she was onto making judgments. Glaring at Y, gripping his credit card and examining it carefully, looking from the card to his face to Elan to the card again, one hand on her hip, silently demanding an explanation.

Y knew Elan had mixed something up, but couldn't put words in his mouth in front of the angry clerk. He pressed, once more, hoping for salvation:

"What exactly do you mean by 'your Mommy steals at the grocery?'"

"Well, sometimes when we are shopping, Ariel and me will want something, and she will take it off the shelf and open it and give us some. Without paying for it first. At the store. She just steals it, and we eat it in the cart."

Get it now?

Y let out his breath, without realizing he'd been holding it. He smiled up at the Israeli cashier. See? Told you my wife isn't a crook. We can still shop here.

"Oh Elan," he explained. "Mommy might open a snack to keep you quiet while she shops, but she always pays for it afterwards. Some stores don't mind if you do that." He looked pointedly at the woman behind the counter, who looked right back at him, as if to say, Well, don't get any ideas, because we do.

"And that's not stealing?" Elan was finally catching on.

"No, babe, it's not. Mommy wouldn't ever steal. She pays."

He told me later how relieved he'd been when Elan had clarified on his own accord, because if Y had guessed the truth before Big E said it himself, it would have appeared more than a little suspicious. After all, don't kids always speak the truth when you least want them to?

But I must confess, I don't look bad in a beret, and the whole Bonnie-and-Clyde-badass thing has always kind of appealed to me. I can almost respect a really good thief.

From a good distance, though. Because people call me many things, but badass just isn't one of 'em.