Accidental KitKat Thief?

I think I may (and I stress, 'may') have stolen a Kit Kat. I popped out to get a sandwich at lunch today (warm lamb roll with mint sauce - it was delicious, even somebody baa-ing at me in manner of a small fuzzy lamb didn't in any way diminish my enjoyment, because that's the kind of carnivorous bitch I am) and then stopped off in the corner shop to get some crisps to go with it (Oriental Rib McCoys, since you ask). I got back to my office, devoured my sandwich and, with mint sauce dripping attractively down my chin, reached for my crisps...whereupon, to my suprise, I pulled out a shiny, red, four-fingered Kit Kat.

I have absolutely zero recollection of buying any form of chocolate-based snack and now the rest of my afternoon has been taken up with wondering if I am an accidental snack thief. I can be absent-minded, in a way that I try to think of as endearing but is actually bloody annoying, for me and anyone affected by my lack of short term memory, and it is possible that I could have put it into my bag without really noticing. Not on purpose, obviously, because I've never really been into stealing things, not even when I was a professional Teenager and petty theft went with the territory.

However, it is equally as possible that I paid for the Kit Kat and the mundanity of the act (and also of this post, I'm beginning to realise) escaped me, in the way that I always have to go back and check my hair straighteners/oven/wind-up llama is switched off, because I do it so often, my mind actually blanks the act out. I really hope I did, because otherwise it's just a short step to menopausal kleptomania/forgetfulness that sees women called Doris being publicly shamed for slipping a tin of beans into their handbags, and at 21, I feel a bit young for this yet.

In other news, Guernsey has just scored a point in the living stakes because when I realised I couldn't pay for the aforementioned baa-lamb sandwich because I only had my card and the shop didn't take cards, the guy behind the counter (who said "How-do" to me when I entered the shop, the exoticness of which charmed me greatly, as Guernsey, being as far South as you can get in the UK, never gets Northerners here, because they are too sensible and Northern to be bothered with our fancy Southern ways. And fair play to them), told me that I could come in and pay for my sandwich on Monday instead.

This could have been because I had a red-faced, hiccuping tantrum and rolled around on his shop floor when the sandwich was nearly withheld, but it's hard to tell. (Joke)

So that restored my faith in humanity and the trust of people in others...which is now making me feel even worse about possibly stealing the Kit Kat. Bollocks.