Sticky Fingers.

What's going on, speak readers? I hope you all had a good Columbus Day weekend. Mine was cool - just wish I was a government employee so I could have received the day off. Alas, I didn't - so I dragged through the day, contemplating just the right time to make a break for the door without seeming TOO anxious.

Once I made my way home, I stopped off at the local grocery store to pick up some items so that I wouldn't be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. While there, I heard a young mother yelling at instructions at her child, not to touch anything in the store.

Almost immediately, that scene transported back to a time with good ol' Mama Sharon. She would "coach" me up before we went into a store. It usually went something like this:

Mama Sharon [with an evil glare and clenched teeth]: If you put your fingers on something in that store, I will be putting my belt on your behind. You understand, little boy?

Me [with the most sincere voice possible, followed with Kool-Aid smile]:

Yes, Mommy - no touching!
Mama Sharon: That's my Punkin.

We entered into the store and my intent was to observe my mother's simple instructions but those daggoned packages were shiny and filled with tasty goodness!!! Twinkies, Snickers, Doritos; hard to pronounce for a snaggle-toothed four-year old yet wonderfully delicious to little taste-buds. Next thing I know, the loot was in my pocket and I was sweating like two fat people having sex in a sauna in long johns.

"Please don't let me get caught.... please!!!", I thought to myself as we walked achingly slow out of the store to the car. We finally reached the car and began our journey home. I solemnly stared out the window on the drive, lamenting the thought that I had betrayed my mother's trust, fearing I would be sent off to jail for my indiscretions.

As we entered the house and I trudged off to my room, my mother called me back. She hugged me and gave me a Snickers for being such a good boy at the store. Huh? No beating? Yay!

That's right, folks... I got away scot-free! That day, I vowed never to steal again and I didn't...

Until I saw all those quarters under Big Momma's bed. She wouldn't miss 2 (OK, 5) - so I scurried under and helped myself to a few. I was counting my bounty when Big Momma came in the room, wig askew, shaking her finger at me. She proceeded to beat my butt harder than calculus in Russian.

I bet you're all wondering what this has to do with the price of tea in China. Well, the only reason why I used to take things is because I couldn't have it and at the time, I really thought I wanted it and my life wouldn't be the same without it. After taking what I wanted, the feeling was great but fleeting. Getting caught... that's an entirely different painful thought, which made me realize in the long run that it really wasn't worth it.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I received everything I asked for. Would I have appreciated it as much? Would I treat it like it was the best thing since sliced bread? I doubt it - and I doubt I would have turned the way I did but that's neither here or there. Anybody out there used to get stuff for the five-fingered discount? Still do?

Let me know... don't make me be the only criminal.

- Jorge