In my mind:

I walk, head hung low, into Target with the stolen items in my hand. I walk up to the customer service desk, offer up the contraband and put my wrists out for the metal bracelets. “Miss Winters? Please come with us,” say the large, intimidating security guards. I lug the heavy baby-laden car seat with my wrists cuffed together to the back interrogation room (all stores have such a room, right? Oh, right. Only in my imagination.) and am questioned for the $12 outfit I lifted. “But I didn’t mean to, honest,” I whine as they look back at me with cold eyes and shake their heads.

In reality:

I walk up to the customer service counter with a Target bag in my hand, Huz and Claire at my side. I say that I want to return a shirt I bought and that I accidentally left the store without paying for the baby clothes, as they were next to my child’s car seat and I didn’t notice until too late. I add that I was mortified about it. The clerk doesn’t even blink. She simply scans the shirt, scans the baby clothes box, and says, “okay, do you want to just apply the shirt to this then?” I say yes, pay the $6.00 difference and walk away.

Kinda pales in comparison to my imagination, huh? I’m glad it’s over – my conscience was unsettled.

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