*Meep*
So I have guilt at the moment. But let me backtrack:
This morning, I went to a Mom & Baby consignment sale - same sale I went to back in the spring, actually, but this was the fall edition, where they were selling more winter-based clothes. Andrew was, as of this morning, in desperate need of pajamas, in that he had none. He's been sleeping in onesies all summer, which is fine for summer, not so much for winter, and a quick inventory of his over-stuffed closet proved that he doesn't actually own anything resembling pajamas.
Hence, sale.
So I go to the sale. It was pretty much the same as before: a high school cafeteria stuffed to the gills with baby/toddler/children's clothes and toys. And I mean stuffed - there had to be dozens of strollers, carseats, jumperoos, bassinetts, changing tables, swings - and rack upon rack of clothes.
For toys, Andrew didn't do too badly. I found him a little rolly scooter thing, and a Little People Jungle set (or maybe a prehistoric set - it's got big leaves and makes odd jungley noises, but it came with an extremely orange T-Rex), and best of all, a phone that both lights up and makes noise. This phone has already proven to be useful. Normally, if I'm on the phone, Andrew is desperate to play with it, and usually ends up hanging up on whoever it is on the other end of the line. Today, however, I handed him his new phone, and he sat very happily between my legs and played for a good ten minutes, leaving me to actually have a conversation. Score.
For clothes: well, Andrew is no longer deficient in the pajama department.
Here's where the guilt comes in: each item was tagged with a card roughly the size of an index card. This card provided the consignor number, the price, and a description of the item. When you checked out, the cashiers took the cards, added the totals, and kept the cards so they could figure out which consignors were owed what money.
When I unpacked my bags, I found four cards, still attached to their items.
Enter guilt.
Now, obviously I did not mean to take the items without paying for them. (I actually ended up spending around $50 as it was - and the four items come to a whopping total of $10.50.) And I truly didn't realize they were still in my bag, which I had thought was emptied at the cashier stand, nor did I notice their exclusion in the massive four-people-working-at-a-time card-taking-free-for-all. By the time I did notice, Andrew was down for his nap and there was no going back to correct the mistake, at least not before they closed.
Guiltguiltguiltguilt.
I've emailed the contact on the sale's website, apologizing and asking for an address so I can mail both cards and check to cover the cost of the items, and now I'm anxiously watching my inbox. I figure it could go one of two ways. Either the sale folks say, "Oh, gosh, thanks for being honest, yes, here's an address!" Or they could say, "DID YOU NOT NOTICE THE PLETHORA OF SIGNS SAYING SHOPLIFTERS WOULD BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW, AND WHAT'S YOUR ADDRESS, WENCH, SO THAT WE MAY SEND THE POLICE TO ARREST YOU?????"
*whimpers*
*
In other news, assuming I'm not arrested in the near future, I'm kind of sorta wanting to go to Million Mediocre March, or whatever it's called. The anti-rally? The publicity stunt? Whatever. I have the feeling it could be kind of entertaining. Also, it would be Andrew's first non-rally. (The only question is: do you go to restore sanity? Or do you go to keep fear alive? Restoring sanity is all well and good, but fear might be funnier, in this instance.)
This morning, I went to a Mom & Baby consignment sale - same sale I went to back in the spring, actually, but this was the fall edition, where they were selling more winter-based clothes. Andrew was, as of this morning, in desperate need of pajamas, in that he had none. He's been sleeping in onesies all summer, which is fine for summer, not so much for winter, and a quick inventory of his over-stuffed closet proved that he doesn't actually own anything resembling pajamas.
Hence, sale.
So I go to the sale. It was pretty much the same as before: a high school cafeteria stuffed to the gills with baby/toddler/children's clothes and toys. And I mean stuffed - there had to be dozens of strollers, carseats, jumperoos, bassinetts, changing tables, swings - and rack upon rack of clothes.
For toys, Andrew didn't do too badly. I found him a little rolly scooter thing, and a Little People Jungle set (or maybe a prehistoric set - it's got big leaves and makes odd jungley noises, but it came with an extremely orange T-Rex), and best of all, a phone that both lights up and makes noise. This phone has already proven to be useful. Normally, if I'm on the phone, Andrew is desperate to play with it, and usually ends up hanging up on whoever it is on the other end of the line. Today, however, I handed him his new phone, and he sat very happily between my legs and played for a good ten minutes, leaving me to actually have a conversation. Score.
For clothes: well, Andrew is no longer deficient in the pajama department.
Here's where the guilt comes in: each item was tagged with a card roughly the size of an index card. This card provided the consignor number, the price, and a description of the item. When you checked out, the cashiers took the cards, added the totals, and kept the cards so they could figure out which consignors were owed what money.
When I unpacked my bags, I found four cards, still attached to their items.
Enter guilt.
Now, obviously I did not mean to take the items without paying for them. (I actually ended up spending around $50 as it was - and the four items come to a whopping total of $10.50.) And I truly didn't realize they were still in my bag, which I had thought was emptied at the cashier stand, nor did I notice their exclusion in the massive four-people-working-at-a-time card-taking-free-for-all. By the time I did notice, Andrew was down for his nap and there was no going back to correct the mistake, at least not before they closed.
Guiltguiltguiltguilt.
I've emailed the contact on the sale's website, apologizing and asking for an address so I can mail both cards and check to cover the cost of the items, and now I'm anxiously watching my inbox. I figure it could go one of two ways. Either the sale folks say, "Oh, gosh, thanks for being honest, yes, here's an address!" Or they could say, "DID YOU NOT NOTICE THE PLETHORA OF SIGNS SAYING SHOPLIFTERS WOULD BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW, AND WHAT'S YOUR ADDRESS, WENCH, SO THAT WE MAY SEND THE POLICE TO ARREST YOU?????"
*whimpers*
*
In other news, assuming I'm not arrested in the near future, I'm kind of sorta wanting to go to Million Mediocre March, or whatever it's called. The anti-rally? The publicity stunt? Whatever. I have the feeling it could be kind of entertaining. Also, it would be Andrew's first non-rally. (The only question is: do you go to restore sanity? Or do you go to keep fear alive? Restoring sanity is all well and good, but fear might be funnier, in this instance.)