It was a flashback to those heady days of pregnancy; dispatched to the store to find and secure "Pillsbury frozen turnovers, cherry, no substitutes".

Bypassing the produce section, past the meat section, I found myself in frozen foods. Up and down the cases, bursting with asparagus to zucchini, tater tots and french fries, Ben and Jerry’s to Hagen Daz. No luck. Back I went, no quitter I; tamales, frozen nan, Cool Whip, no joy.

Despair rose and finally, doing what modern man hates, I approached the Service Desk. To a young man I explained my dilemma, my failed quest. He quietly reached, no, not for a gun to put this poor sot out of his misery, but for the microphone. It boomed across the store: "There is an old idiot here looking for "Pillsbury frozen turnovers, cherry, no substitutes". Will someone from groceries come and lead this poor fool from the Wilderness?"

Well, he didn't really say that, but any man who has wandered for hours, avoiding asking for directions, knows the feeling.

Soon a bright young lad appeared. I explained the object of my quest: "Pillsbury frozen turnovers, cherry, no substitutes". Turning on his heel, I dutifully trailing behind him, halfway down the row of frozen foods, he stopped. He opened the door, cold air flooded, he pointed to a stack of "Pepperidge Farm frozen turnovers, cherry". I recoiled. "No Pillsbury?" "We carry Pepperidge Farm" he said apologetically. I turned and held forth the yellow Post-it with the words clearly written "no substitutes". Taking a small step back, looking into the distance, a half-smile, he said quietly:"I know, I know, I know those orders!".

But he brightened: "If she doesn't like them, you can eat them!” Persuaded by impeccable logic and deep wisdom from one so young, I was soon on my way home.