"Go on," he whispered. "Look behind the mayonnaise jar."
Shrugging, I dutifully bent down and looked.
"OK. Just what am I supposed to be looking at?" I asked in a normal tone of voice. He shushed me and pointed once again at the mayonnaise jar. All I saw – besides mayonnaise – were a couple of plastic containers so old I didn't remember putting them in there and two jars of pickle juice with one half a pickle apiece floating in them.
"Look behind the big pickle jar," he hissed.
I dutifully rummaged behind the jar and, voila! I found them – and knew immediately why he employed subterfuge.
Dr. Peppers™. canned ones. Two of them, cunningly hidden behind the pickles so as to avoid detection by our children, known affectionately as Agatha Christie and her younger brother, Columbo.
I nodded my understanding and carefully pushed the pickle jar back to where it stood on the shelf so it obscured the drinks.
"I hid them there just for us," my husband said.
"Thanks," I told him. "Let's hope they don't find them." Then I quietly closed the refrigerator just as my daughter wandered into the kitchen.
"What'cha doing?" she asked.
"Us? Nothing. Nothing at all. Just standing here talking. Yep. That's what we're doing. Just talking. Right, honey?" I said, turning to my spouse. He pasted a big, silly grin on his face.
"Why, uh, yeah. Just standing around talking," he said, trying to look casual.
She threw us a look that said we were slipping a gear, shrugged her shoulders, grabbed something from the pantry and waltzed back into the den. I smiled at my better half and gave him a thumbs up for his quick thinking.
A couple days later I pulled my Dr. Pepper™ out of the refrigerator and drank it, thrilled by the knowledge that it was the only one in the house – and it was mine, all mine. I popped the top and took a nice, cold swig, looking up just in time to see my daughter walk into the kitchen.
"Hey, where'd you get that? I didn't see any Dr. Peppers™ in there," she said, opening the refrigerator door.
I smiled. "That's because your father and I hide them from you." She shut the refrigerator with a snort and stalked back into the den, empty-handed.
"Yeah. Right, Mom," she said.
I just hope she doesn't look behind the limp celery in the crisper.
