It was just another hot Texas day. I was in line at the WalMart Supercenter (you know the one that stretches all the way back to layaway because they don't want to open another checkout? We've all been there). After the interminable Bataan death march to the front of the store, I was now second in line, unwittingly being updated on Britney Spears' prenatal bliss and eroding marriage and the updated exploits of Brad Pitt and Angeline Jolie as they attempt to adopt their 437th child from a small village in Madagascar, and the lady in front of me was quite weary, with three children in tow, one of them apparently traumatized because she had forcibly stripped him away from the Superman costume he so desperately wanted. She had the standard groceries on the counter, with the normal sugar laden foods to placate her screaming children (as well, I am sure, as to give herself a chocolate fix to save the day). What happened next was so predictable, as it replicated scenes I have seen over and over again, in my various excursions to the Mecca of materialism.

The cashier rung up her order, and announced the total. The woman had a brief "ah, crap" moment as she realized that she had miscalculated her purchases and had to cut a few items off the list. As she perused the counter, realizing that she would have to pare her purchases down to the more essential ones, her eyes cruised past the sodas and the candy without even pausing. She stopped as she looked at the baby formula. That would have to go, she decided, and removed it from play. Next up was the laundry soap.

If I hadn't seen it so often, I would assume she was overstocked at home and didn't need those items as bad as the others. But experience has taught me that all too many parents are willing to sacrifice the more essential items for survival in favor of "luxury" items such as cigarettes, candy, and sodas that they simply do not need and have no business buying if they can't afford the more essential items.

Some months ago, I had a friend ask me to pick him up a case of soda in town. This friend is a known mooch, and I knew my money would be gone as soon as it was spent. I'm as much a stickler on buying soda for someone when they're down and out as I am of buying beer or cigarettes: You don't need it, and if you really must have it, you'll wait until you have your own money. This same individual was flabbergasted when I answered his desperate plea to rescue him from starvation with a bag of pinto beans and rice. Hey, it's food for a couple of days, and, best of all, it doesn't cost me much so I can dole out a lot of it. If you want the steak and lobster, though, you'll have to earn it yourself.

The lady, of course, was a composite of so many I have encountered in life. Sure, she may have had more money at home and decided the formula and laundry soap could wait for the return trip. And, in fact, she just may have. But too many people don't, and maybe it's time we start dealing with the fact that a caviar lifestyle should only be bought by those who have the money to afford caviar.