So a few weeks ago, I hosted the sleep over, right? The one with the little girl who took my kid to the Christian youth group and revealed the mysteries of Leper touching?
I failed to describe the side journey I took with Em and her friend. The one I needed after being in the grocery store with them for an hour, and withstanding double barreled pleading for all variety of chips, soda and various vaguely identifiable food stuffs. I also said this phrase to them:
"Please stop rubbing your butts on the refrigerator case."
We ALL know where I was headed after this little sojourn into hell, right?
Yessirreee. The Liquor store. Which in Montreal is conveniently located RIGHT NEXT DOOR to the grocery store. I am living among a people who enjoy their booze.
We get the groceries into the car and I announce they are coming with me into the liquor store. If I could have left them in the car, I would - but it is very cold here and it is generally frowned upon to abandon two children into an unheated car while their designated adult browses the wine aisle. I suppose the other option would have been to put two spastic nine year olds in the car with the ignition running, but that seems equally unsavory.
After stern warnings NOT TO TOUCH ANYTHING, I usher the girls into the sanctity of the SAQ. Ah sweet, sweet SAQ. There are many lovely Shiraz's here, calling to me. What's that Italian table wine? Yes. I think you could also come home with me.
And Mme Baileys Irish Cream? I think I may enjoy you a bit later in the evening, when the bambinos are asleep, or at the very least locked in their bedroom.
I get to the register. I smile weakly at the cashier.
Emily and her friend run over to the ledge, where they proceed to stuff their pockets with every wine and liquor related pamphlet they can find. I continue to smile weakly at the cashier. He is looking at the whirlwinds of petty thievery I have brought into the temple.
"Slumber party", I offer as explanation.
"With a trip to the liquor store?", he replies.
"Whatever it takes", I murmured.
It wasn't until the following day that I wondered what the born again parents thought about their kid coming home with her pockets stuffed with booze related literature.
Ah well. If they can touch my kid with lepers, I suppose I can touch their kid with some alcohol.