I was heading into my local Trader Joes to stock up on Peanut Butter Joe-Joe's cookies when he stopped me. A young boy, maybe five or six years old. He was playing with a tennis ball and waiting for his mom by the entrance.

"Whither the douchebag?" he asked me, his eyes confused.

Unsure if he meant "wither" or "whither" in the old English sense of "to what purpose," I asked him to repeat what he'd just said.

"Whither the douchebag?" he asked again.

I realized he meant to inquire as to douchebaggery's origins. It was a surprising question from a kid so young. Perhaps he'd glimpsed the tatted up uberdouche visage of Xenu somewhere. Somehow the land of Armani-Exchanged tools had invaded and overwhelmed his young senses.

A question so complex deserved a proper answer.

"Kid," I replied. "The collar pops not from without, but from within. As you grow older, you must fight it. Do not fear the douche. Confront it. Overwhelm it. And enlightenment will be yours."

He nodded.

"Thanks." he said quietly.

I wasn't sure if he fully understood. But as I went inside I'd hoped I'd set his young mind on the right path of de-douchification and enlightenment. The path of self inscription.

I felt I'd made a difference. At least a little bit.

Later, at the checkout line, I hit on his mom.