Recently, I’ve been on a spurt of eating eggs for breakfast, so last night I needed to make a run to the grocery store to pick up some more for this week. On my way out, I asked Rhiannon if she needed anything while I was going. Knee-high stockings. Great. I was thinking more along the lines of food, but, being a loving husband and having overcome my fear of Victoria’s Secret stores for good over a year ago, how hard could picking stockings up in grocery store be?
Rhiannon showed me the box of the kind she wanted. I carefully noted the brand, product name, size, color, estimated the rough box dimensions, and deduced that it could indeed be discreetly concealed by my paw-like hands until I could safely reach the self-checkout station.
The plan was to locate the aisle containing said stockings, do one, maybe two walk-bys, giving the opportunity to locate the stockings and plan the best approach angle to discreetly acquire them without drawing undue attention to myself.
Pass one: target not acquired. Pass two: [a little slower] target missing Pass three: [a slow shuffle] target was never there – bad intelligence! Abort! Abort!
I called home base to my intelligence officer.
“They don’t have your stockings.” “That color?” “No, as in that brand, style, color, anything. [searching every box to verify my statement] There is a reasonable generic knockoff. Would this be acceptable?” “Yeah. Get those.” “Change in mission confirmed. Over and out.”
At this point I looked up and noticed and elderly woman outright staring and me inspecting stockings. My cover was blown – I had to think of something and fast.
“If I were planning a robbery, do you think the nude or the black would give me maximum facial distortion while still maintaining an adequate field of vision to accurately disable anyone running in my periphery?”
She didn’t answer. Last time she ever stares at a guy who is obviously in over his head buying stockings in a grocery store. Mission successful.
Over and out.