Recently, I asked Hubs to give seven words that would describe me. I wasn’t too keen on his selections, I was offended, but they were truthful. The truth has a way of stinging. One of the words he chose was “naïve”. Today as I sip my coffee the sting is still steaming on his choice of descriptors. But as the dark sky gives way to light, I reflect on a time way back when, that sheds light on his word “naïve”.

Hubs and I hadn’t been married but a few months when he became a police officer. I was around twenty six. One afternoon a new neighbor and her teenage son asked for a ride to the shopping center. We left our small children playing at my house with my hubs. They had moved into our little town, from the big windy city, and didn’t have a car. I went into several stores, and they went into a few others. We met up at the car, we put our items in the back of the blazer and headed home. On the ride back we talked about our purchases, of course I was curious if she had gotten any good deals. Her son muffled his laugh from the back seat, as she told me she got a “five finger discount”.

We got home, they left, and I questioningly told hubs about their discount. The look on his face clued me in pretty quick that something was off. He who rarely laughs, gave me the “are you serious?” smirk. He then told me what a “five finger discount” meant.

Okay, so he was right. But that was me a long time ago, I’m not naïve anymore.