I don’t need to steal, for I am rich enough. Call it a hobby. The sight of my growing stash satisfies me; thrills me. Packaged biscuits and chocolates; tins, tubs and more in their thousands. And every one of them booty from my great supermarket heist. How long ago did it start? I haven’t the faintest idea. Years, perhaps decades. But I remember clearly how it all began.

I was waiting in the queue at the checkout, eyeing up the chocolate bars to pass the time. As I examined them a daring urge crept into my mind. I usually ignored such thoughts, but this one seemed particularly thrilling. I casually picked up a bar – nutty dark chocolate, my favourite – and stowed it away in my jacket. After paying for the other groceries I emerged triumphantly from the supermarket, delighted with myself. I had committed my first crime, as petty as it was, and it had given me a high that no drug could.

I never ate that chocolate bar. It sat, and still sits, as a trophy; a testament to my daring deed. Of course it doesn’t sit alone. It wasn’t long before I found myself sneaking a toothbrush into my jacket, and from then on my collection grew. For that is the beauty of my hobby. I have pulled it off not by great force or great talent, not by a great break-in that startled the world, but by more humble means. Patience and persistence have pulled off this heist. Bit by bit my collection has grown, and I possess in it now more than anyone could imagine. It satisfies me like nothing else can.

My father told me “Thou shalt not steal.” My father told me lots of things. I took everything he said to heart, too; but stealing’s my exception, my indulgence. You mustn’t think wrong of me. Nobody is perfect, so perhaps this is my imperfection. It certainly isn’t too great an imperfection, for I am hardly stealing at all. That is the wonderful thing about it: I have stolen so much by stealing so little.

My father knew nothing of my hobby, and neither did my mother, but two others found out. My wife sees the beauty of it. She admires my daringness and cunning. She discovered the stash when we were still dating, and soon had the secret out of me. It made her love me the more, though she felt she shouldn’t, and she was compelled to marry me.