I have this problem lately. I find it absolutely hilarious to make people think I'm plotting to steal things.
I do it constantly - - in a restaurant if I like the pretty glub glub fish shaped water jug I'll make room in my purse, and that swizzle stick with the colorful wooden bird on top, oh yes, that will fit perfectly up my sleeve. Where else would I get a parrot stir stick? I have to take it. No question. And that tiny little wine glass perfect for orange juice when I'm feeling fancy, yep, I'll have that. My ongoing commentary of the things I intend to steal makes my partner nervous and I find that even funnier. I'm all "So, I'll be taking that funky chair over there by the door when we leave this restaurant so be a sugar lips and pull the car up while I create a diversion." "Ummm...you can't just take things", she says*. Ppppfffftttttt. I say if I paid for my meal, the cutlery should at least be mine now. And I really need a good steak knife. Give me yours too.
The pure joy I get from seeing her mind racing, questioning whether kleptomania is yet another issue we have to tackle is slightly twisted I know, but real.
All summer we walked Dixie the wonder dog (furry addition to the family) past this house in my neighborhood where there was a sleeping garden gnome. If you read the "about me" section of this blog you'll know I used to have a fear of garden gnomes. If you haven't read it, don't do it yet. I have to update it. Whoa. Hold on. I said no! Get back here. Not yet. In the meantime, can I get a "Hells yeah" for overcoming one of my 6 bonkatrillion fears? Because I've developed a fondness for the gnome my lovely readers.
And I want to make that napping gnome my own.
He's just chilling out in the garden every.single.day.
He's my kinda gnome.
So I started out telling the kidlets and my partner how I am going to take the gnome because the family already has about 15 in their yard and they wouldn't even miss that one. In fact they'd probably WANT me to have it. They can't take care of all the gnomes. It's neglectful. It's impossible. I'd be doing the neighbor a favor. See how his gnome hat is getting all chippy? I'll paint that bad boy up. He'll be the envy of all the gnomes.
Each day that we'd walk past, my love of the lazy garden gnome grew and I'd get a little more detailed about how I planned to gnome-nap it. I'd run up to the fence and hang off the side and talk about how I just needed to work on my cardio to make the leap right over over under the cover of darkness.
The wise, but foolish, eight year old asked why I didn't just buy myself a garden gnome. Silly child, this napping gnome and I have a connection and no other gnome will do. The eleven year old would walk far ahead and pretend he didn't know me (not unlike any other non-gnome-thieving-day) while I rambled on about my gnome relief mission. I'm actually rescuing the gnome; I have a much better spot for him in our Momma garden. Even she would want me to take the gnome! Yeah, that's right. I brought my momma into it. Sure, she is not here to defend herself but I did pack her house and I happened upon a few sugar dishes I'm quite certain once belonged to the Steak and Stein. So yeah, she'd be on board.
Sensible eleven year old underestimates me and suggests I do it when the eight year old is not with me because she can't run fast enough. I said oh ho ho eleven year old, not to worry, I'm not going to get caught. There will be no running required. I'll be stealth like. A gnome stealing ninja. But you are correct that there can be no accomplices. This is a mission I must complete on my own.
We walked past the house again recently - bundled up in mittens and hats now because Nova Scotia (!!!) - and what do you know... the napping gnome is gone.
The eight year old's face was a combination of shock and curiosity. Would her mother be sent off to the clink?!
I whisper, "See, I told you that gnome would be mine."
They nervously laugh and ask where the gnome really is. I say "He's in our shed of course, he can't come out until next Spring. He'd freeze his little gnome pants off." The kidlets look at each other with one of those 'our mother is batshit crazy' looks that I love so much because these moments, when your kids think you may have stolen a napping garden gnome, are the stuff the really good memories are made of.
My partner continues to say she's going to check the shed with her worried eyes and brow furrowed, secretly hoping there are no Ruby Rose look-alikes in the local jail and wondering how she'll fit trips to the penn into her schedule when her girlfriend is arrested for gnome theft.
Only time will tell...
*Yes, you read that right. My partner is a she. And SHE is spectacular. But that's for another day.
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