My mother has always been quick to impart her wisdom, dropping little tidbits of advice suitable for all manner of occasions. As, let’s face it, most mothers are wont to do. These gems of insight, drilled into our brains through repetition, continue to serve us well into our adulthood.

Thanks to years of my mother’s sage advice, I know better than to contemplate a late-night snack before bed. (Nightmares, her voice whispers in my subconscious.)

Similarly, I abstain from taking a swim too soon after eating. How could I dare with her warnings about cramping ringing in my ear?

Beer then liquor? Oh wait, that one I learned the hard way all by myself in college.

You may have noticed that most of my mom’s reproves revolve around eating. I’m not sure why, exactly. But I can say that no truer food-related warning exists than what is perhaps her most oft-repeated admonishment: Never go shopping when you’re hungry.

I have seen plenty of evidence (i.e. wrappers in her purse and car) to know that I’m not the only one who struggles to follow this sagest of advice.

For some reason, despite the undeniable truth behind these words, it is the one which I have the hardest time abiding by. (Given the aforementioned wrappers, perhaps it’s genetic.)

The problem is not that this little bit of wisdom doesn’t echo in my mind like all the others, but rather that I have a tendency to overestimate my inner resolve. I can just run in and grab that one thing on my list, I think. Foolishly believing I won’t be distracted from my primary mission by the temptations of the snack aisle, the call of the baked goods or, gasp, the point of sale candy display.

This last, having obviously been created by evil marketing geniuses specifically for weak-willed chocoholics like myself.

But I digress. Back to the whole no-snack-food-can-tempt-me thing. For this was the mindset with which I entered one of our local grocery stores earlier this week. It was the tail-end of the lunch hour and before you ask, no, I hadn’t eaten yet. It was on the agenda, I assure you. I’d just been otherwise occupied with work-related activities until that point.

Despite the growing rumble in my belly, I was undeterred from the task at hand. No problem, I thought, I can dash in and grab the two or three items on my list (shampoo, conditioner and the like) and be back out the door with plenty of time to spare.

Oh, how wrong I was. A half an hour, several pounds of groceries and $40 later, I finally limped out the door knowing I’d proved my mother right, yet again.

Not that I begrudge her for being right, mind you. I just hate it when I’m wrong.

I was disgusted with myself, really. I’d barely made it in the door before items – which, incidentally, had not been on my list – started making their way into my cart with startling regularity.