"Five pounds of bologna?"

The meat cutter at Tomboys market clearly thought I was insane. But I nodded, absolutely certain that that's what my mom had instructed me to buy. After all, five pounds didn't sound like that much. Especially when there were seven kids to feed.

He shrugged and pulled out the red bologna loaf from behind the glass case. No skin off his nose, after all. I think he snickered at his assistant. Probably something about them damn Haislips are about to have some big bologna-themed party or something.

I need to back up here. There was a reason I was at Tomboys in the first place. Mom rarely had us buying food there, even as close to the house as it was. The only reason we ever went there was to cash in glass soda bottles or fetch a pack of cigarettes for my dad. Apparently it was criminally overpriced - loafs of bread went for 25 cents, for crying out loud.

But for some reason, Mom had it in her head to buy something from a kid selling something door to door...I think it was one of the Kump kids, thinking back. He must have been a hell of a salesman, or he was selling something that Mom wanted real bad, cause she never, ever bought from kids. With seven offspring of her own, she frequently had to refuse her own kids trying to peddle candy bars, cookies, or decorative candles.

Of course, she always bought from the Fuller Brush man, but who could blame her? What housewife alive can resist the seductive allure of those white plastic, half round brushes with the black bristles? I think Mom bought one for every room of the house.

Anyhoo, the Kump kid showed up trying to sell God-knows-what, and Mom just had to buy one, and I guess all she had was a large bill, and the poor kid didn't have change, so the obvious solution was to send one of the kids to Tomboys, have them buy something - in this case, bologna - and with the change, she could purchase the desired item and live happily ever after. As the most responsible Haislip child, I was dispatched to complete this task.

The meat cutter turned on his loud monster of a slicer, and got to work slicing five pounds of bologna. One pound. Two pounds. Each pound was laid in a stack on the scale on the counter so I could see what a stupidly enormous amount of bologna I was requesting, and he tossed me a questioning look with each pound, as if giving me the chance to back out - "Oh, maybe she meant one pound!" - but there was no way I was going to admit I was wrong at that point. Three pounds. Four. Finally, there were five pounds of bologna, in a stack almost as tall as my forearm. He wrapped it carefully, and I paid for it at the counter. I'm not sure if he laughed as I left, but I think he might have.

I don't quite remember my mother's reaction when I got home. I do remember that the Kump kid was still waiting patiently. Nice kid, that Kump boy. He probably laughed too, dang him. I think I got yelled at, because I remember peeking through the rungs of the stairs as my mother apologized to him and sent him on his way. I'm pretty sure she never did get that highly desired item he was selling. I'm thinking now that it was a booklet on how to deal with really stupid kids.

Good thing we all liked bologna.