Every once in a while. . .

The other day, I opened my pantry door, and except for a few bags of pasta and some cans of tomato paste, the shelves were as bare as "Old Mother Hubbard's". "Can't put it off any longer," I sighed.

"Put what off?" Seth asked, absorbed in the latest issue of Boy's Life.

"Going to the store."

Robert dropped the toy he was playing with, and both boys gave me a deer-in-the-headlight look. "T-That's okay," Seth stammered. "I'll stay at home. I'm old enough, remember?"

"Fine then, I'll take Robert."

Robert gave his brother a pleading get-me-out-of-this look, and Seth hugged his brother protectively. "I'll take care of him. He's too young to be tort--"

"Tortured?" I finished, raising my eyebrow quizzically.

Seth avoided making eye contact by picking imaginary lint off his brother's shirt. "Well, maybe tortured isn't exactly the right word; but you have to admit weird things happen to us everytime we go," he pointed out. "I mean, the kid asks you if we have insurance everytime we leave."

"Don't remind me," I growled, remembering incidents were displays fell on us, and other times when elderly people on scooters ran us over. "But you I want you both to go. You can be my protection, like bodyguards," I added quickly, seeing the horrified looks on their faces. "Nothing will happen."

"Better not," Seth grumbled as I headed them off to the truck. The trip to the store was uneventful, in fact, boring. No deer bounded like rubber balls across the road and tried to tap-dance on our hood, no buzzrds tried to plaster themselves to our windshield.

"So far so good,' I chirped as we entered the store. It was the middle of the week, and the monsterous store was as silent as a graveyard. I was like a child in a candy store as I found wonderful deal after deal. Little did I know what was waiting for me in the meat department.

It was the department I dreaded the most. It depressed me to see pork chops, sliced thinner than paper, selling for over $6.00. I had, for a while, like so many other local consumers, switched over to fish and chicken. The whily meat dept. manager, observing the change, raised the prices on both products. It was no hard to find a chick under $4. (Yes, I know it's the theory of supply and demand, but still.)

For some reason, I was drawn like a magnet to the pre-packaged hamburger patties. Look at the top package,
my inner voice whispered. I gasped at what I saw. There, in machine-printed black and white was the price of $.48! "No way, there's no way this is the right price. What does this say?" I asked Seth.

"It says $.48."

Still not convinced, I asked a near-by elderly lady. "It says forty-eight cents, dear," she smiled. Squinting, she looked closer at the bar code. "Oh, I see. The machine misread the weight. It only weight it as ONE OUNCE."

I was soooo tempted to take the meat and run, but being the goody-goody I am, I showed a meat manager.
"Hmm. Our mistake is your profit," he said, patting my back. I couldn't believe it.

Better yet, the meat was part of a "full meal deal," meaning the meat came with freebies. I got: cheese, sodas, buns, chips, mustard and relish for free! All for forty-eight cents!

Once in a while, everything goes my way.