This weekend TRQ spoke these dreaded words: "Will you go to Costco with me?"
Okay. I am not a Costco-lover. I don't object to Costco on any kind of philosophical grounds the way some people object to Walmart. I just go into sensory overload the second I walk through the Costco entrance. My brain shuts down. I get stupid. I walk out with things I didn't mean to buy, such as a life-size stuffed moose toy that my granddaughters are afraid of.
So. I don't go to Costco.
Except when TRQ demands it.
TRQ LOVES the Costco. It's Grocery Store Disneyland for her. She happily scoots her mammoth-sized cart around, sampling spinach pizza slices and Coach's Oats. She chats up the employees. She fingers the beach towels. She slaps the watermelons on their plump green behinds like they're babies in the delivery room. She is in her ever-loving element.
And all I can do is to trail around in her wake, praying for a quick and painless death.
Please. Light candles for me.