While I picked out cilantro, my son slunk behind the bell pepper display armed with the baguette loaf I’d hoped would make it home for sandwiches.
He aimed and fired at any shopper that moved.
A woman with a full grocery cart. Brrrrr.
A man swinging a bag of lettuce. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
He aimed at the ceiling. Brrrippp Brripppp.
He zipped ahead of me to the check out firing at tomatoes and carts.
Before I could pay, he dropped the bread. Picked it up. Swung it around. Picked it up again.
By the time we fumbled into the van, our baguette was in two pieces, had a preschooler’s footprint on its paper and appeared to be out of ammo.
Which was when my son found that firing his finger worked just as well.