I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, and I don’t care who knows it!!! (source)
Gotta inject some holiday-ness everywhere we can these days, amiright? And everyone loves Elf and/or Will Ferrell, if you don’t then we can’t be friends and I need to ask you to go ahead and close out this blog. No hard feelings, except you obviously have terrible taste.
That got weird for a second. I apologize. I’m actually in love with Costco.
Yes. The big box, oversized wholesale club store. I can’t get enough it. We go at least once per week. You see, boxes of 98 count granola bars and discount tires are totally my jam. I could easily spend my entire yearly salary in one stop if I really wanted to, and it without much effort.
We are Costco members and like most people with a Costco card, we like to take advantage of the free samples on Sunday. Growing up my family was not above making an entire meal out of free samples from Sam’s Club, or wholesaler of choice. It was with great pride I’ve been able to introduce my children to the lures of bite size quiches and spoonfuls of hummus. Apparently, others are in on the game too because it’s almost comical to watch the flock of shopping carts gather around the Bagel Bite lady when she pulls the pan out of the microwave oven, even though we have all probably eaten hundreds of bagel bites before in our lives, we gotta get that sample.
We’ve also taken this as an opportunity to practice our manners. We always say “please” and “thank you,” even when whatever we are eating is disgusting (looking at you clotted cream on a cracker.) Ewwww.
We push our cart up and down each aisle marveling at the bulk packaging of our favorite snacks and treats. I have a weird fantasy about stocking up our house with Costco finds, like a private snack store with multiple varieties of chips, pretzels, full-size chocolate bars, juice boxes, and single-serve fruit snack packages. I definitely wasn’t deprived as a child, but it seems like it would be so cool and luxurious to be the house where our kids and their friends could have their pick of anything they wanted. Remember in Clueless where Cher had the computer automated closet that she could basically shop from every morning? I would love to have that, but as a pantry. I want a Cher Horowitz-style pantry. It would be cool if we could somehow get Paul Rudd in there also, to help keep it organized and for also for me look at and drool over.
There’s probably some Freudian meaning about gluttony and the desire for quantity and excess and that could by why I can’t seem to lose this last 15 pounds, but whatever. Costco also sells fruit and veggies. Maybe one day I’ll be in the mood for twenty bunches of bananas.
So I was in there the other day and stumbled upon a 48 pack of Ferrero Rocher chocolates in a beautiful plastic case. Some light from overhead caught the metallic wrappers and danced over the packaging, like they were calling to me like a smoke signal or morse code or whatever, “BUY ME… BUY ME, STEFANIE.” I told the Ferrero Rocher to shut up for a second because even for me, 48 seemed a bit excessive. I checked the price tag and to my surprise Costco was the sight of some miracle because it was only $12 for that huge package of chocolates.
Costco, you little hussy, tempting me with my favorite candy.
I stood there for a solid 10 minutes trying to think of a good solid reason to buy the 48 count Ferrero Rocher package, running through my head who I could share it with so I didn’t go off the deep end and pig out on all of them, because let’s be honest, that could have happened. I’m trying to make some healthier choices, but $12 was a seriously excellent deal. Those candies are NOT cheap, most of the time. Every time I tried to tell myself no, to put them back I couldn’t seem to talk my hands into putting them back. I just couldn’t quit the chocolate.
Costco knows my love language and is pulling at all my heart strings like a bad boyfriend. I may have to call for a temporary break up in spend some more time at the gym… because I’m the proud owner of 48* Ferrero Roche candies.
(It’s actually 46, I opened them in the car on the way home.)