I stood in the store, looking at rows upon rows of clean little packets of batteries. My hands began to sweat and shake as I picked up first one brand, and then another. Energizers, DuraCells, Rayovacs, Panasonics? Which was best? The cheapest, or the one with the pink bunny in sunglasses?I deliberated, I prioritized, I synergized, I tabulated, I profligated -no wait, I procrastinated. I stood there, in the super discount chain store’s battery aisle looking for someone, anyone, to ask “which battery?”Along came a young boy in a blue smock. Freddy was his name. He has been proudly serving me for six days, his name tag said. “Freddy!” I hollered. His startled look gave me the impression that I had his attention. But he kept walking. “Freddy!” I hollered. He stopped, he turned around, he looked at me timidly.”Freddy, which battery is the better buy?” I asked. He looked at me, he looked at the display. He looked at me. “Hey, I don’t know.” he said, shrugging and then scurrying off.Left to my own devices, I did what I do when I’m all alone. I closed my eyes, I reached out and I grabbed…”Hey! Watch what you’re grabbing!” an annoying voice screeched. I opened my eyes and saw that I had mistakenly took hold of a young woman’s fanny pack. (Big OOPS!) Her pierced eyebrow gave me pause, until she opened her mouth and her pierced tongue startled me into speechlessness.”Oh, uh, oh uh, oh, uh…” I said.”Oh, duh!” she replied.Who needs batteries anyhow, I thought. But then I thought of my children. What did my pioneering foreparents do for me? I wondered.I braved the pierced tongue, went to the cheapest double A’s I could find and in a flash I was home. I proudly handed the sack of batteries to my waiting daughter, picturing myself as the able provider, placing food in his offspring’s possession.