I threw all of my spare change into any water holding vessel I could find. I hunted down every chicken in the land and broke its bone. I rubbed the lamp furiously, in the most literal and least metaphorical sense possible, to summon the genie. I scoured the skies above for a shooting star. I blew every dandelion, every candle, until my chest pulsated in the desperate search for more air.
And once I had gathered all of my luck, prepared all of my wishes to be used, gritted and bared my teeth, squinted my eyes until my ears rang, and crossed my fingers, I did it. I longed, I craved, I yearned, I dreamt of, I pined for, and I wished for - a receipt.
The automated supermarket checkout lady, who had only moments prior been haranguing me on placing unexpected items in the bagging area, has now melted to a sickly-sweet puddle of maple syrup. "Do you wish to print a receipt?" she queries thoughtfully, in the tone of a receptionist at a day spa, enquiring on whether you would prefer a foot massage or a face massage, even though they can barely tell the two ends of you apart.
No, I wish that I did not have to bag my groceries with wildly exaggerated movements, as though I'm trying to entertain a toddler, in order to stop you from telling me off.
I wish I didn't have to enlist the physical equivalent of how you sloooow down your words, and take looong pauses, and speak loudly, when you're trying to, speak to someone who, doesn't speak very good English, just to bag up my dinner.
Actually, on closer inspection, that is a puddle of maple syrup. Oh dear. Sally was here just before me, with her three children- one on hip, the other two fighting their way through the supermarket and integrating the contents of the aisles into the battle, like James Bond and a villain on the most horrendously loud and aisle-blocking chase of all time. One of her sweet little angels must have punctured the syrup bottle, amongst various eardrums, in the process of trying to kill its sibling. Never mind.
Well, I wouldn't mind, were it not for the fact my brand-new reusable bag has been tarnished now. And while the risk of meat juice leaking into the fabric bags is well known and documented, the risk to the health and safety of Kayden now my $2 bag is all sticky is now in completely uncharted and highly treacherous territory.
Unfortunately for Jayden, he will probably bear the brunt of a weight of frustration that he is not entirely at fault for. See, had it have been a plastic bag I dunked in the syrup that Ayden spilt, I could have quickly just thrown it away, for a sea turtle or dolphin to experience the human delight of refined sugar for the first and last time as it munched away.
But no longer. Wildlife is now treated to organic and paleo reusable bags, with far greater fibre content and a satisfying chewiness in each bite.
Don't get me wrong, I know it's a good thing that we rid ourselves of the plastic peril. But I'm having a hard time on the uptake, and the fact that the supermarket is still using the old plastic bags in their rubbish bins beside the checkout is just teasing.
Maybe an advertising campaign might be of assistance. See, as much as it's cool to pretend to care about sea life to impress members of the fairer gender, that doesn't actually make it cool.
If I'm going to be convinced that being cool and bringing my own bags to the supermarket are compatible concepts, then I'll first need to see someone else achieve it. That's the kind of thing I would wish for.
But instead, the lady trapped in the machine implores me again- "do I wish to print a receipt?". I wish for many things. I never thought I would find myself wishing for a receipt, but here we are. I push the button and get ready to move on with my day.
The genie, who is characteristically pedantic with the wording of wishes, doubtfully says "Okay, if you say so!". A docket spews forth from my mouth uncontrollably, unfurling down my front towards my toes, as gasps emerge from the crowd gathering around me.
"Be careful what you wish for" chuckles the genie as Shayden runs into me from behind and knocks me over.
And just like that, I wake up back in my bed, free from the nightmare of another shopping trip at the supermarket.