I've discovered that to my kids, a shopping trip is just one big loophole. Because I didn't say they couldn't "shine" the floor with their hands. I didn't say they couldn't lick the faux pumpkins ("they smell like cake, Mom!") (okay, I admit, they did smell pretty lickable). I didn't say they couldn't wriggle across the tiled floor of the checkout aisle like an earthworm ("Not a worm, Mom. A purple fish!"). Oh, well in that case, go ahead.
I don't even bother with the attempt to think up everything my children might do so I can add it to the verboten list before they fly into action. Completely futile. They have exponentially greater proportions of imagination than I do. Instead, I focus on what they are allowed to do: "You may walk beside me and tell me about Rescue Heroes in a quiet voice."
This works fairly well for my younger two, but not so much for the older pair.
A long bout of silence and puffed cheeks, followed by an explosion of air. "Hurry up and say we can breathe, Mom!"
"You may breathe."
"And can we blink, Mom? What about blinking? Can our blood move through our veins? And what about the spit that gets to be at the back of my throat? Can I swallow it? You didn't say I could swallow."
So if you find yourself in need of legal counsel in about twenty years, you'll know who to call.