Leaving is such sweet sorrow

So Chip and I are at the mall, I have to find a charger cord for Mike's cell phone since he's now busted both the home charge & USB cable. (Topic for another post: the hazardous life of a cell phone in a 14-year old's hands). It's time to go, and Chip has had some fun after our futile search for the cord. He's had a Happy Meal, is totally happy with the Batman Lego Happy Meal toy he got, he played at the playland, did the interactive floor screen thingey, I forked over 75 cents so he could ride a motorcycle ride for all of 30 seconds, and he got to pick out & enjoy a gumball. So it's time to leave but he goes into Brat Mode, speaking Whinese and insistent, he does.not.want.to.leave. And I'm telling him that next time I need to go to the mall I probably won't bring him because he's been so difficult when it's time to leave. And he says Mom, don't threaten me. Dude's five. Where does he get this vocab? "Threaten?" Sheesh.