I was 45 minutes deep into a post about grilling when my wife, the all knowing Bobina, says “you know that funny story in the grocery store today has to be a blog post. It would be great.” So none of you are getting my hamburger recipe or steak marinading advice. Instead, you get to read about what a wanton, man whore of a cheater my kids think I am.
My wife and younger girls (aged 6 & 7) are very slow in the grocery store. They derive pleasure from talking about what cereal to buy or how rolls are cooler than loaf bread. I can do an entire list and have my cart put away by the time they get to the produce. While they loitered around the deli meat waiting to chew the fat about roast beef, I ran over to the another section of the store and picked up a few items. My phone rang.