|Spectre aka Dementor, found in wikia.com|
A part of Harry Potter saga
CostCo is a horror to experience on any week, any day, or any hour. So much fortitude is required to gird up any given body part when entering its gates of hell. Once a membership is flashed to an employee, air is sucked straight out of one's lungs and a spectre of doom hovers around anyone with money in pockets or purse.
Common sense flees, prices seem reasonable, and the hunt begins.
We had a list given to us by his sister: a specific list for specific number of guests. Twenty hamburgers, twenty hot dogs, and six chicken breasts to be halved seemed very reasonable.
When reaching the meat section, my high I.Q. husband starts figuring and asking, "Does one hamburger really mean these? Where each is larger than my hand? Six pounds--is that enough? Chicken? Nine pounds? Can one chicken breast really be halved and be substantial? And, hot dogs? Surely not the cheap ones, skinny and pathetic. Let's buy these."
$25 + $25 + $40 + .... It was $175 totaled up for twenty people to eat just grilled meat. What are our relatives? Ravenous cannibals, piling plates with nine dollars worth of meat?
Then John reasoned buns and condiments were necessary. Throw in a jar of jam, a new purse for Mother's Day, a three-pack Redi-Whip, and some vitamins, our wallets opened as spectres vacuum green bills, and a nice cashier smiled, "Have a good one."
God help us. We are too old to take this pressure. When CostCo was Price Club 30 years ago, we called it the One-Hundred Dollar store, enjoyed strolling the aisles. Now, it is closer to Two-Hundred-Fifty Dollars, and our legs hurt.
Still our car wanders there. It is an addiction.
Just a note: our BBQs usually end up with much charred meat.