The dark side...

After several years of swearing I wouldn't fall under the same family curse, it finally happened. I got a Costco membership. Yes, I went over to the dark side of wholesale bulk and frankly I'm wondering how I got here.

For years, I was appalled at the trips that my mom would take to the looming giant, known as Costco. The parking lot, alone, stressed me out. It always seemed to be full of Suburbans and bustling soccer moms. Women dressed in velour work-out suits would come out of the store, yacking on their cell phone, and pushing a monstrosity of a shopping cart filled to the brim with giant boxes of cereal, a literal vat of pickles, and maybe a new iPod or two.

My mother was no better. I can say with the utmost seriousness that every other time I called her cell phone, she was walking around Costco. It got to the point that she'd pretend she was somewhere else just so I wouldn't give her a hard time for being the bought-in-bulk queen. During visits home, I could tell when she'd taken a trip to her wholesale haven. Giant bottles of shampoo in the shower, enough deli meat in the fridge to feed a homeless shelter, and a 12-pack of Glade plug-ins. Ok, so maybe you can't have too many plug-ins when you house a teenage boy.

Mom tried to entice me over to the dark side. She'd tell me tales of the best samples she'd ever tried. Sometimes she looked forward to her Costco trips just FOR the samples. I didn't buy it, though. The sample people were always a little too leering, in my opinion, ready to pounce with their wheat crackers and cheese cubes. It got to the point that if I was with Mom during a Costco stop, I'd happily wait in the car and read a book. Sample-free. She constantly claimed that I was missing out on an incredible shopping experience. I thought not.

And then the day came, recently, when I simply gave up. I was tired of making multiple trips to the grocery store just for two people. I couldn't take one more "quick trip" to pick something up that I'd forgotten. Couldn't I just buy enough to last me the month, maybe more? Uh-oh, I'd been bitten. Bulk was calling.

I reluctantly walked into the giant warehouse and was directed to "Member Services" to receive a membership card. $50 and one grainy ID picture of someone who resembled a Mr. Potato Head with hair (it was the camera) later, I was a Costco member. It had all happened so fast. And then I was off, pushing my Cadillac-sized shopping cart and tossing in 24-packs of this and 10 pounds of that. Before I knew it, I was at the check-out counter with a shopping cart full of...I'm not sure and $149.87 poorer. I'm been defeated. The Costco monster had finally beaten me and it was all downhill from here.