At our house, at any given time, we are either almost out of milk or all out of milk. Lauren phoned during the appetizer portion of Stuart's birthday date to let us know that the current milk status was nil. After we finished up dinner, Stuart and I went, hand in hand, on the milk safari.
We made it safely past the patio furniture and the tiki bar and the summer dishware to the farthest corner of the store. Two gallons of milk in hand, we made the trek back through the financial death traps, cursing store planners and their wily skills. We almost made it out of Kroger's with just the milk when I spotted the Butterfinger eight pack.
The self-checkout aisle beckoned and because Stuart was with me and doesn't have the same issues with self-checkout bagging that I seem to have, we sallied forth to make our purchase.
I scanned the first gallon.
"Please place your item in the bagging area." Cinderella's stepmother spoke to us in her pleasant yet condescending tone.
Yes! Success! One item down, two to go.
"Please place your item in the bagging area." The second gallon of milk, done.
Now for the Butterfingers. Scan. Bag. But wait these look so tasty! I took them up, opened the package, tore open a tasty morsel, popped it halfway into my mouth, and like Eve, offered one to my Adam.
"Please put the item BACK in the bagging area." I set the remainder of the package down and looked into the scanner for Cinderella's stepmother. Stuart knows my self-checkout issues. He looked at me with the half a Butterfinger poking from my lips and we laughed until the tears came. People with advanced degrees in self-checkout glared at us with haughty advanced-degree glares. We hardly noticed. The best part of the birthday date was in Krogers buying milk.