Ever since all the stores started carrying those handy little bottles of already icy chilled Frappucinos, I've become somewhat of a kleptomaniac. It is my one indulgence when having to do the horrid task of grocery shopping, or God Forbid, entering the hell on earth known as Wal-Mart. I would drink these lovely little treats as I wandered aimlessly up and down aisles contemplating how many people I can ram with my cart while still maintaining an air of innocence. To me, these are truly like nirvana in a bottle and helped me not succumb to cart rage. Inevitably, I will finish the concoction well before finishing my shopping and I have to find a spot to stow the bottle. When Baby was still a baby and in her infant carrier, I would stash them up front with her and would often find the empty bottle - the unpaid for empty bottle - while loading her in the car. Now that she sits in the cart, I tend to carry them with me. My husband, in an effort to save me from myself and shame of shoplifting charges, will often take the bottle from me and drop it into the cart. Too often, though, it ends up left on a shelf where I put it for "safekeeping" while reading the package on some incredible new item that I have to convince my hubby we cannot live without. There was one shameful shameful time where I actually threw the empty into a trash can.
It now appears that my blatant disregard for the law in terms of Starbucks and their Frappucinos is leading me down the dark and dirty path of complete sticky fingerness. I often find little "prizes" under my purse, under the diaper bag, under the cart cover Baby sits in. I need help. There has to be some 10 step program for this, right? Some form of group therapy - Hi I'm Kate and I use Baby to help me steal? I'm just waiting for the day the rent a cops follow me out of the store and escort me back in. I know there will be approximately 1000 Frappucino bottles to be entered into evidence. Their tasty goodness demolished and the vehicle its transported in discarded so carelessly. I can already hear the jail door slamming shut behind me while I sit inside deciding whether to my best rendition of Paris Hilton and sob uncontrollably or enter the jail yard, walk up and punch the biggest lady while screaming at the top of my lungs "Who's your Momma?" I don't know what is worse, the fact that I can't seem to help myself from stealing or imaging my glory days as Queen Bitch of Cell Block E?
On the bright side, if I should go to the clink, I've already got Baby trained on how to pilfer and hide the goods so I can probably talk her into bringing me in a file for my spectacular Shawshank Redemption style jailbreak.