Wretched Excess. (Need Any QTips?)

I admire the "eat local" movement, those who would buy only what they absolutely must to survive, and individuals who are disciplined enough to swim strongly against the supersized American consumerist current.

I love reading those blogs that demonstrate that ethos (especially Jamie's 10SignsLikeThis) but -- given my perfume habit as one example (although in my defense, we DO own a CSA share this summer and will be supporting a local farm by eating great produce) -- Anyway. Where was this defensive diatribe leading?

Right. Today we made our Annual-Trip-To-Costco.

Oh dear God. It starts with a long drive using up way too much gas to a location in the burbs. Got an early start in order to beat the crowd. Show up at 9:15 a.m., find a lovely close parking place, in spite of the hundreds who are already jostling by the entrance.

Each of us jockeys an oversize cart into the line waiting to get in. Note the Old Hippie complete with pony tail of graying hair who aims to beat everyone to the front of the line by creeping his cart on the outskirts of the crowd, slowly, slowly making his way to the head of the line. Idiot.

Anyway. Door opens, show membership card for which we spent money entitling us to spend even more money -- and then it begins. It's like I go into a hynotic state and I start wanting things I would not be in my right mind to want. Five oversize bottles of Mitchum unscented deodorant. FIVE LARGE DEODORANTS. We will never need to buy deodorant again. Or toothpaste. Or ibuprofen. Or (fill in the blank). And I really don't want to talk about the lifetime supply of Q-Tips.

Then there is the industrial size Costco peach pie. Why, why, why? At least this one I convinced Jim he wanted so I didn't have to carry the guilt.

He wouldn't go for the huge bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos, though. I had to put that in my own cart. Dammit.

Tide. Clorox disinfecting wipes. Never mind the usual pallets of toilet paper and paper towels.

A new bed for Bucky (that he doesn't like the smell of. Yet.) The double-pack of Cetaphil.

And the list goes on. Until we get in the long, long line for the privilege of paying the hundreds of dollars.

Then the line to actually exit ... and we're out!

Load up the car, make it home and that weird consuming state slowly wears off. But there's a hangover moment as I'm stowing the QTips. Thousands of QTips.

I know the rationale is that buying in bulk makes things cheaper. If you need everything you buy and buy only what you need.

Did I need thousands of QTips? Or the 20-pack of Seth's Pink Cookies? Well, if anything happens, at least we're stocked.

Let me know if you need any Pink Cookies or QTips.