Mommy and Daddy Busted at the 7-Eleven

Last night was Colt’s soccer practice, and I admit…

I didn’t want to go.

I wanted to want to go, but I just didn’t want to go.

I was exhausted from work and what I wanted to do, was go home and sit on the couch, alone.

I wanted to watch anything but football, or baseball, or Disney channel.

I wanted to put on my pajamas and not wear a bra.

I wanted to get only myself a drink. Only myself a snack. Only wipe my butt.

So I lied to my husband.

I told him I was working late, and I wouldn’t be able to make it to soccer.

He completely understood. In fact, he was so sweet about it.

He assured me he’d pick up Colt from after-care, take him to get dinner and then on to practice.

What a wonderful husband.

If only he knew what his sneaky little wife was up to.

I am an awful person.

Confident in my plan, I left work promptly at 5:30 p.m.

I drove to the 7-Eleven near our house to get gas and saw a woman walking out with a pizza.

It smelled delicious and hot and cheesy.

It smelled like bad decisions. And that’s what tonight is all about, I thought.

So I did the unthinkable.

I went inside and bought a $5 gas station pizza and a bottle of Pinot Noir.

I felt wonderful. Exuberant. Rebellious.

I was meandering over to the Nutter Butter bars (because, why not?)…

When I literally WALKED into them.

My husband. And my son.

Like a deer in headlights.


“I thought you were working late?” my husband asked.

“I, umm,” I stuttered.

Then I looked down to see my son clutching a king size bag of Cheez-Its and a lime Slurpee.

“I thought you were taking Colt to dinner?” I asked.

“Umm, well….” he paused, “I am.”


(Seriously, there are 25,000 people in this city!!! What ARE the chances we’d run into each other at the same gas station at the same time?!??!!!!)

So what did we do?

We got in line to pay, of course, because what was left to do?

We stood next to each other in silence.

“Put her pizza and wine together with my son’s Cheez-Its and Slurpee,” he told the cashier.

She pursed her lips in judgement. She was “SMH-ing” us in her head, I was sure of it.

We walked out the door and gave each other a quick kiss – not saying another word about our transgressions.

I wished Colt good luck and promised I’d be at his game on Friday.

I went home and ate three pieces of that delicious quickie-mart pizza, washing it down with the finest glass of vino seven dollars could

This is what guilt looks like.

This is what guilt looks like.


I watched an hour of Project Runway and dozed off.

Todd got home shortly thereafter with my sweaty soccer player in tow.

I managed to get Colt bathed, brushed and into bed before plopping down on the coach next to Todd.

Tomorrow we’ll try harder.

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