“Come on Andrea, don’t you want to help mommy pick out some cereal?”
Andrea Bargnani didn’t move. He was stopped in the pasta aisle, staring intently at one particular product.
His mother grabbed his hand and tugged gently. “Andrea, let’s go.”
“Can we get some of this?” The five-year-old Andrea asked innocently, eyes remaining fixed on the box of Primo pasta. “Grandma always is making pasta for us.”
“Grandma makes her pasta by hand. She wouldn’t want to use that stuff. You have to come along now, mommy needs to finish her shopping,” his mother said, exasperation beginning to become evident in her voice.
Andrea grabbed the box of pasta and an adjacent jar of co-branded tomato sauce. “I think we can have this for dinner.” he said plainly. He looked scandalized when his mother took the products out of his hand and replaced them on the shelf, and when she picked him up in her arms, he began to understand that he would not be getting Primo Pasta and Sauce that night.
“NOOOOOOOO! Mommmmmmyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!” Andrea yelled as he was carried away from the objects of his desire. “I need to compete game in and game out! I can’t be fully prepared unless I eat right, and only Primo Pasta and Sauce will enable me to do so!”
His mom displayed no signs of relenting as he began to flail his limbs. “You can have it when you’re older.”