Can we have a snow day, please?

Costco.



It's probably my least favorite and favorite place at the same time.



For example, where else can you buy a rotisserie chicken, an enormous bag of spinach, and a pack of two king size Sealy pillows at the SAME TIME? (Well, ok, maybe Walmart, but Walmart isn't on my way home from work. And anyway, the smartest of my college roommates said we're supposed to boycott them.) The giant packs of cheese, the cold warehouse atmosphere, the carts bigger than some people's cars, the glow of the Times Square new year ball-sized fluorescent lights that turn your skin that appealing shade of...fish...it all adds up to time well-spent after a long at work. Who WOULDN'T want to traipse through there in heels shoving economy-sized bags of toilet paper under the cart at 5 pm on a Monday?



Especially when you are tottering in said heels, bending over so far that your shirt is halfway up your back, straining to fit two 1.5 gallon apple juice jugs in the undercarriage of the cart, and finally turn around to see whose way you are blocking with the cart and view you are blocking with your booty, only to apologize into the face of someone you recognize but have no idea how. Then, after a sweet smile to the face that clearly knows exactly who you are, you scurry away before he can open his mouth to say hello. Then you spend the rest of the trip being cart-stalked by this person, stopping every few feet to intensely scrutinize cans of organic tomatoes and four packs of butter, hoping he'll pass you.

You then realize you recognize this person from high school and feel HORRIBLE because you probably had two classes a semester with him and he probably had a crush on you because you remember that awkward day you were lab partners in Chemistry and yeah...he had a crush. When you get to the checkout he's right next to you, about to turn to you, sounds beginning to form on his lips, so you whip around the other way and pull out your phone to call your mom.

Meanwhile, you've gotten so distracted that when you go to pay for your groceries your heart freezes because Costco only takes debit cards and you remember that the debit card you keep about $150 on just for Costco is empty because you had to use it to buy Metro cards in sets of 10 for your field trip to the Newseum with your kids that you've just spent all day in heels dealing with on a Monday. All of the groceries are totaled and the check out guy is looking at you expectantly, so you run your card and, of course, it's denied, so he rolls his eyes and asks how you're going to pay while you are now on the phone yelling at your husband because, of course, this is somehow his fault. Then you tell the mad guy your husband is coming with another card (you have one of these cards too, but have no idea what your PIN is) so he throws his hands up like it's the worst thing ever and you feel like an idiot who can't pay her bills, and he lays your receipt aside and pushes your cart over and you go sit and yell at wait for your husband in the lovely food court.



Man, who DOESN'T love Costco?!?

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