The Time I Stole The Magazine...

I honestly don't know why I am telling this story, of all stories. Guess I promised I might here. but never thought it would materialize. 

It was May, 1989. Nearly 10,  I was riding my pink and grey Huffy  to 7-11 (before they became Wilson Farms, then 7-11 again). I opted for the 7-11 because I knew their magazine selection beat the Red Apple's down the street, even though they didn't have the killer Slush Puppies. Decisions, decisions... but my big thing at the time was WWF. I lived, breathed, and slept WWF. This was before Al Gore invented the Internet, mind you, so I needed the scoop. The Summer Slam line up was about to get released, and I needed the information on the next steel cage match. So I jumped on that ten speed and rode through my Mayberry like new neighborhood to read up. There I was- a chubby, but likely cute, little girl reading that wresting magazine with Ted DiBiase gracing the cover and chatting with the store clerks. I might have even been wearing my Tito Santana tee shirt, but red was not all that in style in fourth grade, if I remember correctly.  I wanted it so bad. I wanted that poster on the inside of Ted and Virgil and all the bling on the belt (I am so weird, this I know). I had $1.25. I needed $1.75. I knew it was wrong, but I made a run for it- magazine and all. On the way out (no lie) I saw $1.00 on the ground.  It was too late, so I booked it- in my mind speeding off in a trail of dust- but more likely almost falling off the bike acquiring some silly injury. I've never been the coordinated type.  Before you know it, the store clerk is following me and jumps in her car.  An '81 Trans Am, I think.  She tracked me down, stopped  me, and read me the riot act.  She asked for my phone number and don't you know I gave her the real number. Yup, I was bold enough to shoplift at 9, but not so bold to fake number her.  Through the shaky voice and rubber legs, I apologized and gave the magazine back.
I went home and crawled into bed, not sleeping but staring at my Miss Elizabeth & Macho Man poster, knowing that the clerk would be calling my mom and I'd have to see her disappointed face looking at me.  I really was a good kid. 
But the clerk never called.  Today, I wonder if she went back to the store and laughed with her co-worker about how I almost wiped out as she cornered my bike with that spiffy 80's sports car.  Or, maybe she intended to call but saw that my momentary lapse of judgement was just that- not an indicator of future behavior.  (Mom, do you know about this?)

Sometimes I struggle with this today.  Not the shoplifting, of course. But the "want it, gotta have it" mentality.  Although I instill (or try) otherwise in my kids, I can't shake it myself.  That diet pepsi I want from the store- water won't do- so it's off to get what I want.  The perfectly good food in the fridge that's ready to cook that isn't exactly what I want- guess what?  We're going out tonight! The closet of clothes? It's not complete until I get just one more thing.  There's always an ongoing search for contentedness.  Once I get it, the next big thing arises.  

So, I'm learning not to "take the magazine and run", but to take what's there, be thankful, and wait it out.  You'd think that the dollar on the ground on that day way back when might have taught me a thing or two,  but still I struggle.  It's all a work in progress.