I went and got us a Costco membership today. This was a bad idea. Not the Costco part. That was a great idea. It'll pay for itself in a week in fruit alone.
No, the bad idea was Friday morning at 11:00. I don't know why, but everyone in Utah over 60 was there. In my daze and wonderment, it's a miracle I didn't plow any senior citizens over with my gigantic cart full of gigantic children. I've been to stores like this before, but it's a long time since I actually shopped in one for myself. You should see the grapes I got. They're as big as my head and taste like candy. And the tomatoes... I can now support my and 2.0's habit guilt-free.
I wrote down prices as I went through--stuff we buy regularly but don't need now--, and now that I look at it, I do think this thing will pay for itself in just a couple of trips. We used to have a Sam's membership when we first got married. I think we bought toilet paper once in our first three years together. The produce was cruddy, the quantities were enormous for just the two of us, and it was clear across town. Not worth it.
I don't know what Sam's is like now, but I really like Costco's produce, meat and deli. And with two kids I can even use up a refrigerator-size package of turkey slices before it expires.
The kids were angelic in the store today. It's always a gamble with them. They're never particularly bad; they seem to be wired not to throw tantrums in stores (something I know can happen even with good parents and well-disciplined children), but they get whiny and annoying, and I'm incapable of shopping while trying to tune out whining. It's like playing the piano while a friend jams a knife in your ear.
(They did have one moment in the cheese aisle (and I don't blame them--all that cheese makes me hangry, too), in which 2.0 got a flick on the cheek and The Child got a stern lecture--so effective with a three-year-old--, and when I was done, she looked at me and said, "Snuggle?" and we hugged a bit. And while that was happening, 2.0 leaned in too, and said something that sounded like "Straaangle?")
But back to Costco. It's an airplane hangar full of economy-sized crap you think you need, and half the time it took to get through was talking myself out of buying jars of pickles the size of my torso. And not running over sweet old people. I did get suckered into buying a fancy package of dried figs, but I justify that because: 1) they're good for you 2) I hate them 3) the kids love them. It's the perfect kid snack food. They eat something healthy, and I don't devour it while they're napping.
After 45 minutes of slogging through the AARP and my own greedy brain, we finally arrived at checkout. Where we waited. And waited. And waited. See, I have a superpower. It is the ability to find the one lane with the brand new trainee. If you ever see me in the store, do not get in line behind me. Especially if you have a similar ability. Our powers will combine, and we will be stuck in that checkout until our teeth fall out.
So we waited there. And then we waited at the membership counter behind a couple who must have been buying a car or ordering a custom-made glacier. Half an hour. I wish I were kidding. My poor starving children held it together very well, but I almost went back and bought myself an economy-size missile launcher. The thing I hate about waiting in line is that I know it's no one's fault. And having no one to direct my anger and impatience at makes me even angrier and more impatient.
I'm a wonderful person. Brimming with goodness and benevolence.
The people in front of us did finish up (I'm actually not writing this while I wait in line), I got my photo taken (my worst photo EVER, by the way, but it's okay because it's so awful it's comical instead of just embarrassing), and we cleared out of there. Then poor Emmy erupted into screams--but only until we got to the car. Good baby.