Went to Brio last night with the girls and, as we were leaving, passed the huge bowl of mints by the door.
Every time we went anywhere with mints, Dad would always grab two big handfuls that he'd stick in his pocket. For later, you ask? Hardly. If a one of those mints made it home, or even all the way to the car, I'd be impressed.
Dad could resist anything, except the call of his sweet tooth.