When I was a kid my parents got a membership to the Price Club. In my 12-year-old eyes it was a place where your mom and dad went on the weekends and bought buckets of laundry soap, cases of motor oil and shop towels. There never seemed to be anything for kids there and therefore I never begged to go. Somewhere in the late ’80s or early ’90s it became Costco and remained a weekend getaway for my parents. I hardly remember them ever bringing home food. Mom and Dad’s Costco outings became two hours of free time for us kids left at home, and for my dad it meant a limitless supply of shop towels. 

Fast forward 30 years. I can now tell you definitively that the age that you start acting like your parents is 45. I found this out a week ago on a trip to Tucson. 

Let me explain. Zach and I had a day off and decided to go to the art museum and see where the day took us. After the museum we had lunch and as we were walking to the car Zach asked, “Where to next?” and without any hesitation I answered “Costco” which was fine with him, but he added, “Eddie was right.”

“What do you mean Eddie was right?’ I exclaimed.

Eddie is Zach’s coworker, and it seems that every week when they talk about their weekends, Zach tells him that we went to Costco. So now 20ish-year-old Eddie thinks that all we ever do is go to Costco. 

“That’s not true!” I said and then I thought about it. We had been to Costco every weekend for at least the last three weeks. I almost crashed the car. At that very moment we were on our weekly Costco outing. 

When did we get so lame? I could blame it on the pandemic, but we know the truth. We may not be buying shop towels and motor oil, but our cart filled with protein drinks and laundry soap tells a different story. Instead of doing happening, 20-something things, we were dressing up and spending the day wandering the aisles of Costco. I suddenly felt really ashamed. I tried not to go but Zach, being just as addicted as I am, forced the issue. We went and bought a shelf, a shop light, and a bag of coffee. After we loaded the car and before we left, I turned to Zach and said, “When you tell Eddie about our weekend, leave this part out.” 

On our way out of town we stopped by the car wash and had the “specialty” wash – something my grandparents used to do – and upon arriving home I put on my comfy pants and took a nap. We have reached the point of no return. 

Based on this I have nothing left to do but confess to Eddie. Yes, we go to Costco every weekend. Instead of living interesting lives, Zach puts on his “going to town shoes” and shops for rotisserie chicken and twelve packs of deodorant, with me! I admit it. Costco is our weekend getaway.