I cannot count the number of times Tom and I went grocery shopping together. Both of us had sweet ... tooths? ... teeth? I don't know what the plural of sweet tooth is, but we both had them. Most times that we went shopping together, one of us (he was usually driving of course, so this would be me that I'm talking about) would sneak out a package of cookies during that 3-minute ride home, open it and scarf a couple down.
When we got home, I'd point out the open package, indignant, and demand to know if at least we got it at a markdown, seeing how it was open, and some were missing. Tom would humor me and laugh, but not without the eyeroll that spoke so eloquently if wordlessly.
I bought some cookies for our upcoming drive to Niagara Falls when I was shopping yesterday. I hid them so they'd last until next week's drive. This morning, there they were, sitting on the counter, open, cookies missing. Busted. And I know I paid full price for them!
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