The lil' man and I were at the super market today. I know. I know. What the fuck? You were at the super market? I don't spend the entire day at the playground! Anyway. I've been doing the supermarket thing since I was 15. And let me tell you, I'm efficient. I don't need no stinking list. I just get in my supermarket zone and gather.
A few weeks ago the lil' man realized that there are matchboxes at this particular market. At first, this was a blow to my efficient gathering. What? An extra aisle to travel. However, I quickly realized that it was a very useful learning tool. "Buddy, I'll buy you a matchbox if! If you keep your hands in the cart. If you don't break anything. AND if you refrain from that ridiculously obnoxious vacuum cleaner sound effect you're so fond of. I keep telling you nobody digs it. Why don't you believe me?" The first couple of times, we left the market matchbox-less. But, eventually he caught on. And ... eventually I started putting more matchboxes in the cart. Hey! I want to leave the market with a matchbox too.
Back to today. I was in my gathering zone, efficiently roaring through the super market. Half way through the journey, the lil' man started screeching, "Matchboxes daddy!" At first, I stayed in my zone, "Yeah. We're almost there, lil' buddy." He responded with a, "NO! MATCHBOXES DADDY!" I looked up and realized that I was about to ram into a huge display of matchboxes. What the fuck? That's not where the matchboxes are supposed to be. A huge sign read, matchboxes 62 cents. I threw an arm full in the cart. Okay. I lie. I ... I mean, WE carefully selected an armful of matchboxes.
Off we went to complete the supermarket voyage and like I said, I'm efficient. It didn't take long and the lil' man only lost a couple along the way. Unfortunately, when we reached the checkout area, only one register was open. Oh no! Like his momma, he just can't resist all that eye candy. His arms starting flailing. Hands started grabbing. Shit started flying onto the floor and into the cart. "Buddy, you have to keep your hands in the cart!" One more matchbox gone. Another. Another ..."
By the time we were finally rung through, there were only four matchboxes left in the cart. Jesus Christ! They were only 62 cents each. What an opportunity to inexpensively enhance our, I mean, your collection. Why was there only one register open? Why couldn't you just keep your fucking hands in the cart? Damn it all!
I'm chill. We, darn it! He did get four pretty sweet new matchboxes. The center piece being an A-Team van. That's right bitches! You can sleep better tonight, the A-Team is alive and well. I was going to post a photo of it, but ... I already can't find it. That's living with a two year old. But, hey. If it weren't for him, I'd have never owned an A-Team matchbox at the ripe ol' age of 37. Even if it was only for 3 hours.
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