Friday, February 27, 2009

The shopping cart caper

We just returned from a caper. I can only hope the surveillance cameras did not get a full view of our faces because we were laughing so much.

Flashback to Saturday night when I took the Mystery Woman out for Chinese after the movie. We imbibed. Each enjoyed glass and a half of house white. This is important. Regular readers know we normally drink Three Buck Chuck. Both of us remain convinced the alcohol content in Chuck is lower than posted. The house white might as well have been white lightening. It had a kick.

Ergo, we are not responsible for what happened next.

The real wine made the minivan somehow more daring. The engine purred as we maneuvered the shopping center parking lot. I hung my arm out the window and tried to make a muscle. We looked sophisticated and daring, not like a normal old couple who were just lost and a little confused.

What we lost was our inhibition.

There in the middle of the empty parking lot was a paint-splattered shopping cart with no handles. The aforesaid paint was pink. Mostly. It was a thing of beauty.

Want it? I asked.

You bet, was the quick reply.

In a flash, we opened the rear hatch and snuggled the cart inside the far back of the van. The tires squealed as we peeled away from the crime scene. However, I had to hit the brakes immediately because we live just around the corner from the shopping center. You should have seen us careen.

Once we got home, we off-loaded our treasure under the cover of darkness. As grocery carts go, it was a precision machine. Turned on a dime. The Mystery Woman wheeled the cart in the living room like a majorette at halftime. The carts at Target never roll this easy.

Next morning, we were not so proud. Embarrassed is more like it. What were we thinking? Actually, we were thinking the jewel of a cart would prove useful as we trot stuff between granny’s condo and ours. Until we realized we were too chagrined to be seen by our neighbors.

Two fretful days later, again under the cover of darkness, we reloaded the cart in the van and returned it to the parking lot from whence it was purloined.

We are still puzzled and mildly amused at what attracted us to the shopping cart in the first place. Some say it is a metaphor for the American economy. Some say it could even replace the eagle as our national symbol. Maybe that’s it – the cart appealed to our sense of sacrifice.

Meanwhile, watch for us on “Cops.”


Ken Martin said...

That's hilarious. You can always call on me for a character witness, George.

Anonymous said...

This is hilarious! I laughed my ass off. Stick to the Chuck!


The South Plainsman said...

You have a right to remain silent.

If you waive that right, anything you say can be used against you.

You have a right to an attorney.

If you are too poor to employ an attorney, one will be appointed for you.

You have the right to terminte any interview at any time.

Too late! Off to the slammer for you. Especially after we turn the Mystery Woman to testify against you.


George Phenix said...

Damn. I knew we should have had a real wedding.

The South Plainsman said...

Now you know for sure who is really in control at your house.


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