Aisle Number Five

I bumped into my ex-apprentice in the supermarket yesterday. I needed some batteries for my son's very realistic automatic toy weapon, which is why I was walking down aisle number five. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a shaven-head youngster in surfer gear stop dead in his tracks at the bottom entrance to the aisle, shriek something that sounded very much like omyfuckinggoditsthatcrazymissionary and then throw himself under the aisle partition and crawl like a madman to the other side.

My military-trained instincts told me immediately who it was and I zipped around the partition to surprise the living daylights out of the idiot. Thought he got away from Paintball Pete, did he?

I grabbed a packet of oreos and with the same swift motion, shoved the entire packet into his wide open mouth before he could yell out any more profanity in the store. I asked him a tirade of questions, which needed a simple nod or shake of his head in answer. Turns out he was in the store to pick up some batteries for his iPod. He wasn't tailing me. He wouldn't dare. But just in case the thought ever crosses his mind, I gave him a good smack across the back of the head to clear it of all foolish fantasies.

I have to go back to get more batteries today -- I'm sure I won't be running into iPod boy in aisle number five. My little warrior got a bit carried away with his new toy and chased Liberty around the garden for hours. I'm so proud of them both -- my son for his developing militancy and Liberty for his eternal slide into submissive servitude. He'll have to use his paintball gun until I get back from the shop.

Fight the good fight.