On the way home from picking up the little Goofs from school Mama Goof called and ordered me to hit the supermarket for necessary supplies. (We already have liquor.)
I'm glad I had the little Goofs along because the place was packed with panicked suburbanites stocking up on toilet paper and waffles and all the shopping carts were taken. I pressed the little Goofs into service as porters, little complaining porters that can’t hold things upright.
Seeing the press and panic I had us move in tight formation and issued our snow emergency supermarket instructions:
Walk with confidence and keep moving.The last bit is standard operating procedure at the supermarket regardless of whether conditions.
Be ready to fight if anyone tries to take our food. I’ll take the blows. GoofBoy – hit them low. GoofGirl - run away with the food.
In the checkout line you must look at the ground. Do not look at candy and ask me to buy any – I won’t. GoofBoy do not read the headlines on any publications for sale in a checkout counter and under no circumstances can you read them out loud to your sister.
The line was long and tempers frayed. One man broke down and started running around the supermarket yelling: “The Snowpocalypse is coming! The Snowpocalypse is coming!”
For once, it wasn’t me. Fortunately, my kids weren’t freaked out – with me as their dad they have certain immunity to adult madness. But they did have a concern. My son looked up at me, “Dad if the snow gets really bad which one of us will you eat?”
“I don’t know,” I answered thinking. “You have more meat, but your sister is really tender. I see how the mood strikes me.”
“Good,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “While you think about, we can take you down.”