Bit of an important milestone for us this weekend. We all committed our first criminal act together as a family, just shy of my youngest son’s first birthday. We accidently shoplifted a $1 whoopee cushion from Big W.
My three year old left me on Friday afternoon, just a normal kid off to play some ten pin bowling for the very first time. He returned with an expensive addiction to whoopee cushions, courtesy of those seedy bowling alley vending machines. Three year old boys and farts are like bodybuilders and bulk. They can never get enough, and they will happily employ artificial supplements to overcome the limitations imposed by their biology.
Come Sunday afternoon, we were ostensibly shopping for birthday gifts for my almost one-year-old son when my husband threw another whoopee cushion in the pram, “just in case”. There are many things we do “just in case”. Stashing a spare set of keys somewhere, buying extra batteries for the torch, stuffing a few tampons in your purse, getting a bikini wax before a first date. Having an emergency stash of novelty toys is generally not one of those things, but when you have a twitchy three year old who has taken to huffing on a whoopee cushion, well, you do what you have to do.
Moving on, we waded through a sea of brightly coloured plastic crap, found nothing else suitable to purchase and headed for the exit. By then we had forgotten all about the whoopee cushion, which was sitting by itself in the front seat of the pram because both my kids were of the inclination that being strapped into a lurid green perambulator in public was an affront to their precious sensibilities.
So there it was propped up perkily in the front seat, forgotten. As we walked out through the exit the bag checker was so furiously scanning the basket of my pram for stolen contraband I’m sure he would have fastidiously detached both eyeballs from his head and tossed them into the undercarriage if it meant he was able to get a better look.
I noted his arrogant suspicion and got all huffy, thinking “Pffft, you walk into one of these places with a pram and people automatically treat you like a bloody criminal”, completely oblivious to the fact that I was brazenly walking out of the store with stolen goods in plain sight.
Because both my kids had cracked the sads and were refusing to ride in the pram, there I was wheeling a stolen whoopee cushion around the plaza like a crazy person out for their Sunday stroll. I only noticed it when we finally got back to the car.
It’s a powerful addiction. Four whoopee cushions in 48 hours and not even two days later we were already stealing to support his habit. Your kid could be next.