The following is a perfect example of why I should not be allowed out of the house by myself:
After work yesterday, I went grocery shopping to stock up on some Operation: Mini-skirt essentials. Chicken breasts and heads of lettuce and such. (It's unbelievable the amount of ways I can prepare a hundred grams of chicken, let me tell you.) Anyway, I get to the store, make the trips up and down the different aisles - consciously and painfully avoiding the cookie and cereal sections - and finally make it to the checkout. All is fine; all is wonderful. She fills two bags and I give her my money.
It wasn't until I got home that I realised I had only carried out one bag.
So, with receipt clutched firmly in hand, I head back to the store to face my shame. The cashier recognised me right away and told me that she had already replaced the items, but had marked down what they were. All I had to do was collect them and show her the receipt on the way out. Which is what I did, rushing through the store to find my English seedless cucumber, my 5 Roma tomatoes, and my fat free fake cheese. All is fine; all is wonderful. I thank her profusely, and walk away.
"Excuse me, miss?"
I looked back to find the teenaged girl, to her everlasting credit, not laughing. Not laughing, and holding the damn fat free fake cheese which I had forgotten - for the second time.
God help me.
Have a lovely day, poppets.
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