One day at Wal-Mart, M decided that we needed a yardstick.

I was more than a little curious. “What do we need a yardstick for?”

“I have an idea.”

“Ok, well, we have a tape measure and level already if you are wanting something to help me hang the new blinds.”

“No, that isn’t really what I had in mind. My idea involves you in the school girl uniform.”

“Ooooooh.”

So I went about gathering the few things we needed; diapers, diet coke, and a few cleaning products, while M went on his way searching for the yardstick. We met up a few times and to his frustration he was having no luck finding his wooden implement for my punishment. I knew it could be found but I was having a great time witnessing his determined quest trough the aisles of the superstore.

We had been in the store for what seemed like an eternity. By this time, I was wandering the aisles looking for him. I finally stumbled upon a clearly distraught M in the paint section.

He was apoplectic. “Wal-Mart doesn’t carry yardsticks? How can they not have yard sticks; this is Wal-Mart. They have eveything. Don’t tell me I am going to have to drive to Home Depot to get a yardstick to smack your ass with!”

“Wait here. Don’t leave this isle. I’ll be right back.”

I had had enough fun and was ready to get the hell out of there. Before I had kids, I spent a lot of time in front of a sewing machine. I was pretty familiar with the craft department and knew I could find the yardstick there. Amidst the reams of fabric and spools of thread, I found them. I quickly grabbed the first one I saw and made my way back to M. He was facing the other direction, so I popped him in the rear to get his attention.

“Lets go,” I said.

He grabbed the stick with a grin and carried it to the checkout. It wasn’t going in the cart. He was like a kid who wouldn’t give up his toy.