Sometimes I Steal Things

I went to Target to have my baby’s photo done, which is always stressful because you have to time a bath, nap, and feeding perfectly then inevitably they will get something on their outfit before the picture. While paying I ended up in a long discussion with the photographer about scrapbooking then I continued on to do my grocery shopping, and by the end both of my children were fussy. At the register the baby was crying and my four-year-old was begging for a nearby junky toy and candy bar that by now he should’ve figured out I have yet to buy. As I got the last item out of my cart, I realized I’d left my wallet back at the portrait studio, so I told the clerk I’d be right back. With both kids whining I ran the cart back only to find two other groups waiting for the photographer who was in doing a session. I waited and waited as the kids only got crankier. Finally I flagged down someone in a red shirt with a radio who said the photographer had taken it to the customer service desk. Another line and more waiting and I was again in possession of my personal filing system. I ran back to the cash register and found there was a new clerk who said the sale had been suspended, handed me my bags, and said I’d have to get back in line. Since the items were things I needed that night, I had no choice but to wait behind two people while pulling ridiculous faces to keep the kids entertained (and me from crying) until finally we were in the parking lot.

It was then that I realized that at the bottom of the cart was the fajita seasoning (.47 cents) for that evening’s dinner and since it was the same color as the cart and I’d gotten distracted, I’d hadn’t put it up on the belt. I thought back to a story I’d heard multiple times at church, something about one of the General Authorities and how he’d mistakenly received two ten cent sodas when he’d only paid for one and how he went and gave it back. I debated for a minute as the kiddie howling from the van intensified. “How much is your integrity worth?” I remembered my primary teacher asking after the lesson. Since I knew I’d never be a prophet, (mostly because I lack a penis) I closed the van door and went home to make fajitas. Sister Hayes, I’d say .47 cents.