They say not to bring a hungry kid to the grocery store. I forgot this bit of advice as I grabbed a cart fit for Brobdingnag, and we headed toward the back of the warehouse club for "just one thing." I asked the kid if she could be good for a whole five minutes. Hers was a nod of theoretical assent.

On the way to the one thing, we naturally had to peruse the DVDs. Nope, no Seventh Seal there. We looked over the books, but they must have been out of The Pop-up Foxe's Book of Martyrs. However, if I want to know the nine easy steps to the six secret concepts of the four life goals of the world's ten most successful capitalists, I know where to look. We pawed through the bins of clothes next. I wanted to do my part to keep a Bangladeshi child employed by buying something, but maybe next time.

The kid wanted to splash around in the birdbath fountain on display, but I smacked her little hands away from it. We returned to the original task and once again headed toward the back of the store. But on the way, I spied something I thought the carnivore at home might fancy. I flipped open my cell phone to ask if I should buy the basted bird carcass languishing under heat lamps, but no one answered. I stepped into the middle of the aisle, blocking it by turning my cart sideways so I could leave a message. I'm not sure if it's the angle of the metal cart that improves cell phone reception or what, but the other shoppers seem to get better reception that way, too.

Well, we would have to kill time in the store until I could call home again. So we moseyed. (I'm allowed to use word forms of "mosey," being originally from the Southwest. I'm also allowed to use the words "howdy," "fixin' ta," and "chip-tossin' hoedown," but I ain't got no call fer'em.) I previously had no intention of visiting this section of the store. That's when the real trouble began.

"Munchies!" squealed the kid. What? The only munchies I know follow weed or sex. "Munchies Cheese Fix," she said, pointing to garishly-colored bags of chips. "Please? Just this one thing." I pondered. "They're cheesy so that means they have calcium," she said brightly. Hey, I couldn't fault the kid's logic there. We all need more calcium, so I dropped a bag of Munchies into the consumption well and wheeled ahead.

If my first mistake was bringing a hungry kid into a store crammed full of industrial-sized food product, my second was acquiescing to the kid's first imploration. The precedent was set. I could be taken down. And so the pestering ensued.

"Cashews!" she squealed.

"No," I said.

"Biscotti!" she chirped.

"No."

"Chocolate!"

"No."

"Prunes!"

"N-- very funny. You wouldn't want to shut up now, would you?"

She eyed the ice cream case. "You are so not getting ice cream, you little chunk." A woman turned to glare at me. She was quite chunky herself. Maybe her mama should have refused to buy her ice cream every once in a while.

We reached the cereal aisle, which I blocked with my cart while calling home. Still no answer. I left the cart in place and wandered down the aisle, picking up boxes and reading ingredients. Some really rude guy shoved my cart out of the way so I gave him the finger. People can be so self-centered.

"Peanut Butter Puffs!" the kid cried at a pitch that could summon dolphins. "Please, please, please can I have this cereal, and I promise I won't ask no more?"

"May you have this cereal, and you won't ask no more," I corrected. "No, I'm not buying sugar crap. Put it back." She held the double volume box close to her chest. "That stuff is just empty calories and late morning fatigue. For the last time, put it back." She didn't move. She was daydreaming of peanut buttery crunchiness leading to sogginess and the sweet peanutty milk reward at the end.

I clocked her a good one on the side of the head, sending her stumbling across the floor to land in the cereal boxes, legs all cattywampus. (See above license for regional slang.)

"Monster!"

I looked around to see who was calling me that today. The kid pointed up from the floor, awestruck by the enormous case of Monster energy drink a few steps away. "It's only thirty dollars," she said, eyes fixed, drool pooling inside her slack mouth.

"No way," I said. "The last thing we need is for you to sprout fangs again."

She pouted. We were both tired and cranky. I promised her a dinner of wild mushroom stir-fry, put her on my back, and went straight to the checkout. She fell asleep as I wrote the check. She always falls asleep when I'm paying bills or working. Fortunately.

Next time I go to the warehouse club, I'll remember not to take a hungry kid with me. I'll eat a snack first.