Let's say that for the last couple of days, you've really been craving gingerbread (the soft cake kind, not the hard kind) and telling yourself that you'll pick up some mix when you do your regular shopping. When you finally get to the grocery store, you arrive in the baking aisle to discover an older lady kneeling on the floor and loading her arms with boxes from the bottom shelf. Ha ha, wouldn't it be funny if she were buying all the gingerbread mix? you think. Then, drawing closer, you realize that she is buying all the gingerbread mix -- eight boxes of it -- and there's nothing left on the shelf for you but a black, empty, gingerbread-less hole.
A. Say, "Get back here with those boxes, woman! Who told you that you could buy all the frickin' gingerbread?"
B. Say, "Excuse me, ma'am, I hate to ask, but I came here especially for gingerbread mix and I was wondering if you'd mind letting me have just one box?"
C. Stand there gaping at the cruelty of life and muttering "I can't believe she took every single box!" indignantly under your breath until your child asks "Are you really mad at that lady, Mom?"
It will probably come as no surprise that I chose option C and sulked off toward the milk, all unfulfilled and grumbling. Isn't there some sort of unwritten rule of shopping etiquette that says Thou shalt not take all there is of anything, unless there's only one to begin with? Sort of like leaving the last slice of pizza in the box in case someone else wants some? If there isn't, there ought to be.
Anyway, G spotted a box of gingerbread cookie mix in another aisle, so we were able to make gingerbread men (snowmen, because I couldn't find a people-shaped cutter in the drawer) with some gingerbread stars and moons to use up the dough scraps. It wasn't quite what I wanted, but it was better than no gingerbread at all. Bring on the holidays!