I am not a klepto

I have a confession. Don't judge me too harshly. Don't hang a label on me. Please don't like me less.

I get sticky fingers when I eat at a particular buffet in town that piles platters high with buttery, mouth-watering chocolate chip cookies. Whenever we're planning to visit any of our children after our meal, I nonchalantly make my way to the dessert bar and fill my dessert plate with 3-4 cookies, depending on whose house we are going to visit. If it is a daughter with 3 kids, I snatch four cookies; if it's a son or daughter with two kids, I snatch three cookies. The math doesn't add up, you say? Well, let me explain. I always order a cup of coffee and make a big production out of dunking and devouring one of those cookies. I reach for the napkin holder, pretend I'm wiping the crumbs from my mouth and throw the wadded napkin over the stack of grandkid cookies, then I shove them in my purse.

The kids are older now. I honestly haven't had sticky fingers in a while, because the kids are mostly teenagers. They always thought of those delightful treats as Nana's cookies, even though their parents laughed in my face and said, "Been to the buffet, again?" The grandkids never caught on. The oldest grandson, 19 came to visit. I asked, "Want a cookie, Hon?"

You know what he had the nerve to say? "Oh did you and Gramps just come from the buffet?"

"How long have you known?"

He laughed!

Okay so now you know my secret. Confession is good for the soul. One can only hide from the truth for so long before it catches up.

All of our kids have dogs. Lately, every time we visit, the dogs go crazy sniffing my purse. I haven't snatched a "grandkid" cookie for a long-long time. Tic Tacs? Did that do it for dogs? I couldn't figure it out until the other day.

When I dumped the contents of my summer purse, bacon bits sprinkled the Tic Tacs, the tissues, the loose coins. I was flabbergasted. "What the heck? How did bacon get in my purse?"

Bill looked at me from his recliner, smiled wickedly, and said, "How indeed?!"

Honest! I have never swiped bacon. Then I remembered. On vacation we ate at Shoney's breakfast bar. I placed three strips of crisp bacon on my plate. I set my plate down and there were only two strips. I accused you know who of stealing a piece of MY bacon. It must have fallen off the mound of hash browns and landed in my purse, so many weeks ago.

Maybe now the dogs will leave me alone.