In order to earn residence in Utah you have to have shoplifted at least once in your life

Last night as we were waiting for a table for dinner, all six of us crazy old people who were taking a break from the kids drove over to an outdoor mall to kill some time. The boys headed to a sporting goods warehouse in a moment of SHEER MALE INSANITY! SPORTING GOODS! I’d like to know the last time Jon or Beth’s husband, Dave, ever picked up a ball of any sort (not including their own). Carol’s husband, well, he’s a total pretty boy so you KNOW he could walk around a sporting goods store with his eyes closed and never trip over a thing. I mean that in the nicest way possible.

The women headed over to the lingerie funhouse because as women we are painfully aware that Valentine’s Day is at the beginning of next week. We’re willing to buy ourselves presents that are really presents for the men because we don’t want them to feel bad. Didn’t get me anything for Valentine’s Day? NO PROBLEM! I bought us some crotchless panties. Everyone wins.

Our babysitter had shown up a bit early so I had some tequila before we left. This never means anything good can happen, which really means only GREAT things can happen. In the middle of the thong panties display at Victoria’s Secret sat this Styrofoam puppy covered entirely in pink panty material. I wanted to take it home and rub its pink panty belly, so when I went to purchase my panties I hid it underneath a rack of strappy lingerie tops. Alas, one of the staff noticed it was out of place and put it back on display where it would forever be lonely with no treats or panty belly rubs.

But I was feeling abnormally risky. I WANTED THAT PANTY PUPPY. It would be so easy to walk out of there with him underneath my arm because I wouldn’t be shoplifting. The puppy wasn’t even for sale. So on the way out I grabbed him off the shelf again. I GRABBED HIM! WITH MY HANDS! But the Spirit of the Lord swarmed me and showed me what Hell would be like as a fiery burning desert with no pink pantied puppies, and the Mormon in me walked out of there puppy-less.

I think the Lord has officially forgiven me now for that A1 steak sauce incident. I may have been a fornicator, BUT I WILL NEVER BE A SHOPLIFTER.