It’s a Costco kind of day. How do I begin this latest entry into the weirdness that haunts the cobwebs of my mind? Where else can you buy tires, have them put on your car, shop for a big screen TV, fine jewelry, eye glasses, fill up with gas, buy enough food to feed the population of Haiti and finance a car? Costco. Which leads me to this story:
About a year and a half ago, my husband took away my Costco card. He actually took it out of my wallet and shredded it in a fit of anger. I love COSTCO but my husband took away my card because I would buy weird shit… Example: I purchased a gigantic can of Rosarita Refried Beans. It’s the size of can you might see in the kitchen of an aircraft carrier. I had to have it, in case I needed to give someone a birthday present or if I was ever invited to attend a baby shower at the last minute. You’ve probably guessed, I hate baby showers. But any real friend of mine, would know immediately, that if I gave them a massive can of Rosarita refried beans, that they truly are, one of the chosen people.
One thing you should know about me is, I hate to shop. I loathe going to the mall and I hate looking for clothes and shoes. Oddly enough though, I love going to Costco. It’s the same kind of high that shopoholic hoarders describe when they finally make the big time by appearing on TLC. I love the industrial size shopping carts and the building that NASA envies. I love the lady with the bouffant, blond hair who asks to see my card upon entering the sparkly, magic as unicorn turds, dock the space shuttle in, Costco building.
I start at the back of the store and work my way to the front. Meat’s in the back, meat that makes the regular grocery store meat, scared to call itself meat. I load some pork ribs in next to the ribeye steaks and 16 boneless chicken breasts, lined up and glimmering the purest color of gypsy moth feet... and those smart bastards who stock the Costco aisles, they are no fools. They have put the wine and liquor right next to the meat. So I whisk through the wine and find the 6 best, good deals and a bottle of premium vodka. A 24 count package of enormous muffins, a watermelon, a 12 pack bag of avocados, a bag of grade A-Deluxe baking potatoes, each one kissed by Elvis and the Pope. A new cutting board big enough to park my SUV on, a 110 count pack of dry erase markers, a box of 40 ice cream bars, so big I have no idea where it will fit in the freezer. A five pound container of whole, salted cashews, 2 pairs of pajamas for the kids, 4 bath towels made of 100% egyptian cotton and big enough to wrap the Statue of Liberty in as a homage to the artist Christo. A 20 pack value sized windfall of Viva paper towels, the cloth like paper towel. 2 cases of bottled Coca Cola from Mexico, where they use real cane sugar and put it in real, tall, glass bottles. A 2-pack dog sweater ensemble for the discriminating chihuahua, a massive 500 ct bottle of Advil gels, a carton of cigarettes and a fantasy flower arrangement of flowers from the rain forests of Brazil. Done.
Upon finally cramming the back end of my Isuzu Rodeo full of this wonderful, mystical love fest of yummy goodness and 100% extravagance, I feel the high wearing off. Oh hell no. I’m already Jonesing for my next Costco high and I haven’t even got the latest haul back to my suburban housewife fantasy homestead where we have an extra refrigerator in the garage.
So... Looking back on my shopping trips through Costco, I can almost, kind of see where my husband was coming from. Hey, I bought him cigarettes in bulk! How could he complain?