Model Citizens

I had bought a duvet for one of the spare beds awhile ago. Recently we decided to go get a cover for it as the holidays are coming up and it might be necessary to pull out our spare linens to accommodate drunken or tired guests. So off to Linens 'n Things Mr. Stinky and I headed. By the way, I love that store. I love any store with all kinds of linens, knick knacks, housewares and gadgets... while Mr. Stinky sighs loudly and sprawls over the towels waiting for me to browse I'm totally like a fat kid in a candy store. It's pure sensory overload as I absolutely must touch and caress every single fabric in reach. Kinda like sex for the hands, but cleaner and a huge, big medley of textures to enjoy.

Once we had mutually chosen the duvet cover of choice, it wasn't difficult as we have similar tastes, off we went to complete the transaction. By the way, it's a damask striped cover in chocolate... how bloody delish is that? On our way out of the store we had to pass through one of those stupid sensor gates which sound off purely at random and either everyone freezes or nobody flickers an eyelash. It's like playing Russian Roulette, you never know when it'll be your turn to get caught with the array of sex toys the minimum waged cashier "forgot" to demagnetize or double bag when she rang up your merchandise. (Heh.. double bag...)

So Mr. Stinky led the procession out followed closely by some random lady with several hefty bags of stuff in tow and me in the rear with my new duvet cover. The alarm went off just as she passed through and before I reached it. Everyone stopped. If confetti and balloons had started to drift down from the ceiling, bathing us in a celebratory fashion you know I would've shoved the undeserving hag aside and claimed whatever millionth customer prize they had to offer. If I had to pull down a rack of oversized bath towels to smother her objecting bleets I'd do it, I'd so do it. Seeing's how nothing fun showered from above, I leaned back a smidge and pointed a very accusatory finger at her just so everyone knew that she was the klepto who obviously needed a public shaming and if the soon to arrive police needed an extra set of handcuffs with which to lash her podgy wrists together I'd totally be the one to whip out the ones from my back pocket and be hero for the day.

The poor lady looked flustered. Mr. Stinky hollered "Run!". I edged around her like she suffered from a mad case of cooties all the while casting looks of reproach and we took off snickering into the sunset. It's the little things that bring a bit of pleasure to an otherwise mundane task; who doesn't like to witness some harmless tomfoolery? Oh sure, we could've been polite, minded our own business and not test the public's sense of humour but honestly, what fun would that be?