Golden Greyhound and Adventures at Costco

If I'm gonna shop at Costco, I'll need a bigger house. There isn't enough room in my pantry for a twelve pack of paper towels.

Last week the J-man and I made our first journey into the land of bulk shopping. His company provides a free Costco membership. Free is good, so we gave it a try.

This is why America needs McMansions. To house all the crap purchased at buy-by-the-truckload stores.

We wandered around the store like rubes who'd just fallen off the turnip truck:

"Check it out! A vat of mayonnaise!" "Lookie! Enough tampons to keep me supplied until menopause." I slapped my hand on an enormous bag of sugar. "Who needs fifty pounds of sugar?" The only things we buy in fifty-pound increments are horse food and cement.

"Dang. Everything's big. It's like Texas, only without the shitty Dallas Cowboys." Even the pharmaceuticals are big. I stared at a six-pack of Monistat. I've never had a yeast infection, not even entirely sure what one is, but if a bread making factory sprouts between my legs, I know where to get yeast killer.

Soon we were sucked into the savings. "That's a good deal," said J-Man, his attention on a three pack of turkey bacon. Before long, our oversized shopping trolley is filled with a case of soy milk; a family-sized box of cereal; a 55 bag pack of instant oatmeal; huge jars of vitamin supplements; the aforementioned bacon; and enough toilet paper to wipe every ass in the neighborhood.

Any savings are obliterated by a trip down the chachke isles where all kinds of consumer crap--toys, appliances, and Christmas ornaments--sing their siren song. I ended up buying a turtleneck top and a book. I never buy clothes or books. (That's what Christmas and birthdays are for.)

We only intended to buy a calling card and some frozen dinners.

Given the size of The Greyhound's latest veterinary bill*, we will be eating everything we bought, including the toilet paper and book.

And possibly The Greyhound.

(*The vet's staff brought The Greyhound out after we paid our bill. We looked him over and asked, "Where's the gold plating?")