Super Big Mart

Holy MOLY but Costco is like a whole other world, ya’ll! My In-Laws perpetrated a fraud and so now we are Business Members at our local, even though the Business is in California and went bankrupt 20 years ago. The guy who set us up looked like Paul Rudd’s younger, skinner, more feminine brother; he was so cute I almost flirted. Except that would have been weird, and would have been like, totally weird for my poor husband to read about. So I didn’t flirt, of course. Did not flirt at all.

He took M’s picture and was like “have a nice day” and I was all “don’t I get one” and he said “well usually the PRImary has to be the one to add you….” And so I just kind of stared at him for a minute while Jack was flailing about and Avery was squealing about having to pee and I think at that moment he may have realized I wasn’t planning to move from his station until I had in my hands a super-mega-discount card with my unflattering visage on the front. So he asked me for my driver’s license and then said “Do you live together” and when we said “yes, we’re married” he said “Oh you just didn’t get your driver’s license changed yet?” and I was like “No I just didn’t take his name” (And I’m not wearing a wedding ring either, sailor. What are YOU up to later?)

And after he made sure to capture my homeliness for all the world or at least all the door guards at Costco to see, I told him he looked like Paul Rudd and then had to explain Paul Rudd is the guy from knocked up (I didn’t want risk citing 200 Cigarettes. Ah, youth..) and he blushed and I bet then he felt good about bending the rules a little to get me and my screaming children away from his counter.

Just my little contribution to the workingman, folks.

Did I mention we took both small children and no teenagers to COSTCO today? In the RAIN? During naptime? Let me tell you: I really hope that two pound bucket of marinated buffalo mozzarella balls is worth it and also? I hope it lasts us about 6 months because I’m not sure I can go back there. Ever. Especially not ever ever ever on a Saturday. Holy CRAP.

On the plus side, we did a Simpson’s buffet lunch at the Costco sample tables. I could only have apples, rice crisps, coffee and all-natural sausage, while the rest of the family got to also sample walker shortbread and pumpkin cheesecake. They licked their lips and their faces lit up with joy, while my stomach was eating itself; there is no solidarity in my family. No love for the suffering.

Costco rewards you with all those sample tables at the back of the store; it’s like those stations at intervals during a marathon. They have to give you some reason to go on, some sense of purpose to propel you toward the front of the store and through the endless lines of glassy eyed, frizzy headed bargain hunters being bottlenecked at the exit by – you guessed it – more door guards! They check your ID on the way in, they check your receipt on the way out, and in the middle are the sample tables. The teaser at the back of the store, the promise that if you’ll just walk past the books, and movies, and toys, and gadgets, and tools and flat screen TV’s and holiday gift baskets and wine- if you can just soldier on, you can have your milk and eggs and massive bags of frozen broccoli and tubs of all-natural guacamole, 4-pound packs of butter for 1.75 a pound, and as a bonus, you can eat three bites of pumpkin cheesecake! YUM!

I went back for three refills of my 2-ounce paper cup of coffee. They owe me. Because guess what happened on our way to the real bargains? On our way to the real food? On our way to light bulbs and dish soap and olive oil?

This happened:

So yeah. We sure got a great deal on butter and olive oil.

Oh, keep your pants on, stalkers. He’s selling off a million tiny metal soldiers to pay for it. No small children will suffer undernourishment as a result of our frivolity.