I had taken Will with me to the grocery store for my weekly shopping trip. Of course, he wanted candy and toys, but he was also prone to crashing the basket, getting in and out of the basket a thousand times, and running down the aisle and around the corner where I couldn’t see him and the child predator was probably waiting.
So I was a bit flustered by the time I checked out.
“How ya doing today?” asked the cashier, a nice teenage boy I’d seen at the store many Saturdays before.
“Oh, okay,” I sighed. “Except I want to kill my son!” I said jokingly, nodding at Will who was playing with the lottery ticket machine.
Will whipped his little head around and cried, “Mom! Don’t kill me! I don’t want to be dead!”
The cashier started laughing hysterically, and even I giggled a bit, but the look on Will’s face was of sheer terror. I assured Will I was not going to kill him.
The cashier was still laughing as we left the store.
