I’m not in the habit of stealing things and I certainly don’t have an arrest record. In fact, the only thing I’ve lifted is a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom at Pizza King. It was a cold night in high school, and we were on a mission to decorate someone’s lawn. None of us would spring for a four-pack of Northern from the Village Pantry. I made off with a roll of off-brand stuff that tore too easily when we tried to fling it into some trees. Lesson learned.
I am guilty of taking pens and pads of paper from hotel rooms. I’ve checked and it’s acceptable. I leave the towels, the pillows, the tempting mass-produced artwork that requires a screwdriver to the frame. The writing stuff I’m just naturally drawn to.
Over the holiday break we spent a night at Great Wolf Lodge—a hotel near us that sports an indoor waterpark. (My version of hell on earth, but that’s for another blog entry. Who knew people had that many deformities hidden beneath their clothes?)
We managed to make it home without having to spring for any souvenirs. The kid's package included a magic wand-thingy, a Build-A-Bear wolf, a pair of Crocs, and tokens for the game room at a bargain price of nearly $90. No, thank you.
So yesterday while running errands, I fished into my purse and found a Great Wolf Lodge pen. My daughter was seated behind me in the van, and I decided to be generous and gift her with it—even though it was the only one I took. “Here, Mia,” I said. “Look what I got you from Great Wolf Lodge.”
She took it from me and said, “You stole a pen from the hotel room?”
Busted. “No, I didn’t steal it. They let you take a pen and even paper if it’s there. In fact, they expect you to take it.”
She wasn’t buying it. “No, you stole it. This was in our room.”
Oh, for cryin’ out loud. How does she expect to have any fun in high school if she’s going to play by a higher standard than the rest of us? I popped my hand back over the seat. “Give me back my pen.”