Confession

You know those discount grocery cards? The ones you cannot shop without, because the price of a bottle of juice goes from like $3.00 to $9.00 without the special card?

I refuse to register for them.

I am not usually the conspiracy theory type, but it makes me crazy to think that some grocery store executive can pull me up in a database and run a report showing that I buy Fig Newmans and baby carrots every week. These days, Big Brother isn't a government hack, instead he works for Cascadian Farms, and he can probably tell if you are a little backed up, because you just bought that extra high fiber cereal again.

But of course, I am a bargainista and I still want the darn discount.

So I pull up to the checkout, ask for the card and the forms, inch Little Guy towards the magazine rack, and then while wrestling a copy of the Star Magazine out of his hands, I say ever so sweetly "He is a real handful today. Can just I bring this back in with me?"

And then I never fill out the form, but I whip out that card every week.