Lamb chops for dinner

Late this afternoon I remembered we had no dinner so the kids and I farewelled Tony's sister, Ann-Maree and cousin, Chey and headed to Woolworths at Raintrees.  
     Seffy and Kibby were fighting on the drive there.  Most of the fights are instigated by Kibby; he'll make a nogood face at his sister, throw something at her or take something of hers.  After warning him to change his attitude, I needed some time out from him or I'd start dressing him down in the cereal aisle or I'd smack him in the dairy section.
     As I was pushing the trolley to the meat fridges, Kibby called out, "Mum."
     I kept pushing the trolley.  He was going to either dob on Seffy or ask me to buy some crap he knows I won't buy.
     "Muum."  A little louder this time.  
     I kept pushing.  I could see the lamb chops.  I should have known that by ignoring Kibby, he would have no alternative, but to yell at the top of his voice.
     "Muuum, is this marijuana here?"

     I whipped around.  This needed dealing with, but I my attention was caught by the woman behind him who had doubled over, apparently collapsing, her face cherry-red. Luckily I did a CPR course last year.  I needed to call Triple Zero then check for breath and a pulse.  The woman straigtened up with a big grin and I realised she was laughing.
     "Mum, is this marijuana?" Kibby pointed to a display of herbal teas.
     "No, it's not," I said, one eye on the lady who was relating the situation to her partner, also laughing.  "You can't buy marijuana in supermarkets."
     "Are you sure?" said Kibby.  "It looks like it."
     The lady put her hands over her face, now maroon in colour. 
     "Um, ah, mmm," I said, "look, lamb chops.  You wanted lamb chops for dinner."