There are certain stores my family treats like hostile territory. Hobby Lobby? Michaels? The now-defunct JoAnn Fabrics? TJ Max? – the list goes on.
You’d think I was suggesting a leisurely afternoon in a war zone the way they react.

The moment I say the words “I just need to grab one thing,” my husband gets this look, something between panic and a hostage blinking Morse code at a news camera. My kids suddenly remember urgent tasks, like reorganizing their sock drawers or brushing the dog’s teeth. Anything, literally anything, to avoid wandering through aisles of floral picks, ribbons, or kitchen utensils.

So when I read about that man in Russia who faked a carjacking, an actual felony, to get out of shopping with his wife, I didn’t feel shock. I didn’t clutch my pearls in disbelief. I didn’t gasp.

I thought:
Yep. My family would absolutely do this.

Honestly, I’m surprised none of them has tried it yet.

This poor woman’s husband in Krasnoyarsk didn’t want to go shopping so badly that he staged a fake crime scene, mangled his own ignition switch, dumped the car on an island, and then called the police with a performance so shaky even middle-school theatre kids would have told him to rein it in.

The officers pressed him, the story fell apart like a Dollar Store lawn chair, and voilà, now he’s facing two years in prison for the world’s dumbest escape plan.

Let me tell you: the minute I step into a craft store, my loved ones suddenly become incapable of basic human endurance. They can run 5Ks, shovel snow, and survive Bears games in subzero windchill, but ask them to stand in an aisle while I debate between two ribbons that look exactly the same to them, and they crumble and act like they are dying.

The “Husband Section” only makes it worse.
You know the spot: the unofficial rest zone where you’ll find four or five men slumped on benches, eyes glazed, waiting to be released back into the wild. It’s like a zoo exhibit titled American Male, Defeated.

My husband’s natural habitat.

I’m convinced that if Hobby Lobby ever removes its chairs, my family will start practicing their own carjacking alibi. My kids would form a support group. Someone will volunteer to create a diversion. Another will fake an injury or typhoid fever.

Anything to avoid 45 minutes in the fabric section.

Meanwhile, I’m over here having the time of my life, deeply invested in whether I need a fourth variety of twine. (Of course, I absolutely do.)

So, to the Russian man who attempted the Carjacking of Freedom:
I salute your dedication, but buddy, there were easier options.

You could have pretended to nap.
You could have claimed you pulled a muscle sneezing.
You could have dramatically whispered, “I think I’m coming down with something,” like you’re dying in a Victorian novel.

But no, you went full Netflix crime drama.

And somewhere, deep inside, every husband loitering in a Hobby Lobby clearance aisle understands why.