r groceries. $389.76. I couldn’t help but notice how the cashier (the same one from before) gave me a subtle thumbs-up.

“Did you need help with the bags, sir?” she asked Jason, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

“No, I got it,” he mumbled, grabbing as many bags as he could carry.

The car ride home was awkwardly silent.

Jason gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. I stared out the window, trying not to laugh.

Finally, as we pulled into our driveway, he spoke. “That was low, Lauren.”

I turned to him, all sugary sweetness.

“Oh? You mean lower than disappearing every time it’s your turn to pay?”

Jason opened his mouth, then closed it again.

What could he say? He’d been caught red-handed.

“How long have you been planning this?” he finally asked as we unloaded groceries.

“Not as long as you’ve been planning your convenient phone calls,” I replied.

“I don’t plan them,” he protested weakly.

“They just… happen.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Every time? At checkout?

Like clockwork?”

He had the decency to look embarrassed. “Okay, maybe I’ve been avoiding it a bit.”

“A bit?” I laughed. “Jason, you’ve turned avoiding the grocery bill into an Olympic sport.”

Jason had the grace to look ashamed.

“I didn’t think about it that way.

I just… I don’t know, Lauren. It was stupid.”

“Yes, it was,” I agreed, but softened at his genuinely remorseful expression. “But pretty clever too, I have to admit.”

“Not as clever as your Bank Fraud Department trick,” he said, pulling out a gallon of milk.

“That was diabolical. How did you even think of that?”

“I couldn’t bear having the cashiers giving me those sympathetic looks anymore, like you were some leech who’d tricked me into footing your bills.”

Jason winced. “You mean the whole store knows?”

“We’ve been shopping at the same store for how many years now?

And you’ve been pulling this stunt for months… of course, they noticed, Jason.” I set the bananas down on the kitchen counter. “It’s not like you were subtle about it.”

“Well, fine. You got me.

No more fake calls.” He held up his hands in surrender. “But I gotta say, you changing your contact name to ‘Bank Fraud Department’ was pretty genius.”

“Thank you,” I said, bowing dramatically. “I learned from the best con artist.”

We laughed as we finished putting away the groceries together.

For a moment, it felt like we were a team again.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, more seriously. “It really was a jerk move. I don’t even know why I kept doing it.”

I shrugged.

“We all have our weird quirks. Just, maybe next time, pick one that doesn’t leave your wife holding the bag. Literally.”

And you know what?

Since that day, Jason’s magical disappearing act has vanished completely.

In fact, he’s been insisting on paying every time we go shopping. Sometimes he even takes his phone out and puts it on the counter while we check out, like he’s proving a point.

I keep my smartwatch charged, though. Just in case.

Source: amomama