I Stole Popcorn Chicken and a Donut from Walmart: Part II

As we were finally checking out, the lady came around to get the items from under the cart: a 12 pack of Bud Light for my neighboors (a payment for a favor), a 12 pack of Bud Light Lime for Chris and I (because sometimes you just have to try something different), and one of those delicious whole still hot chickens (our dinner tonight).

The nice checkout lady said, "You want me to put this in a bag, right?" (referring to the chicken). I said no. She looked up at me and said, "You have got to be kidding?" I was thinking, "What the heck is this lady talking about? Did I just hear her right? Did she really just say 'you have got to be kidding', or did I hear her wrong?" So I said, "No, it's fine thanks."

At this point I was disheveled, didn't know what was going on, wanted to go home, wanted to pay for my freaking groceries. I paid, loaded up the kids in the car, loaded up the groceries in the car, drove home, unpacked the kids, unpacked the groceries...and all of a sudden I understood. I think I have bought one of these pre-cooked chickens once maybe twice before in my life. I did not understand that there was a bunch of sitting oil/grease/disgustingness in the bottom of the container. Ew!

As I am sure you have guessed, that disgustingness had transferred itself onto the carpet of the trunk of my car. Yep. It sure did. All of it.

I spent the next fifteen minutes looking like a barrel racing horse: Grab towels, soak one with hot water and half of it with dishwashing soap, pull the kids back in side and away from the door, run to the car and scrub scrub scrub, run back to the door, push the kids back inside, close the door and run back to the car to scrub scrub scrub. By this point it was dark outside, so I was scared to death Alex would escape and somehow get hit by a car.

By the time Chris came home Grace and I were on the floor of the kitchen surrounded by all of the bags of groceried. We had been there a while. Long enough for everyone to have a piece of cinnamon bread, long enough for Alex to have some grape juice before dumping it on the floor, long enough for each of us to throw a couple of tantrums before Alex finally called it quits and put himself down for a nap. Neither Grace nor I bothered to move during any of this, and when Chris walked in I was happily drinking one of my Bud Light Lime's and Grace was looking pretty interested in the still spilled grape juice on the floor. What my husband must think of me.

I wish I could have called this story 'I Stole a Six Pack from Walmart'...