Last month Michael and I were at Costco because even men who are no fans of shopping love THE COSTCO. I don’t remember what we were there for except the tariffs are coming, and even if a product isn’t affected by them, we all know that prices only go up while the size goes down. We grabbed a cart, wandered into the store, and Michael asked what was on the list. The list? We don’t shop Costco just off a list. We gotta browse. My man, though, stayed focused while I rabidly scanned the aisles for things I didn’t need then headed towards the center where the high-end designer who goes by the name of Kirkland was calling my name.
It always goes the same for me when it comes to Costco clothes. I look at everything, find my size, hold it up, mull it over, and then carefully refold it because of all those retail years. I move from one table to the next and question every life choice I have ever made while a gigantic blow-up pool slide casts its shadow . Do I really need another sweatshirt? No. Do I need it if it’s $11.99? Maybe.
Michael found me and we headed to health and beauty where we actually did need something. Collagen peptides? Oil of Olay? Supergreens? Nothing that exciting. We needed toothpaste and it was there that my superstore mojo fell apart. When did toothpaste get so complicated? Why are there a hundred different kinds?
I stood in front of all those boxes there like a deer in headlights and my wonky tooth that has had a root canal, a crown, and so many appointments years ago due to some weird phantom pain started to throb. “I’m looking for a paste,” I said, “not a gel. The gel ones are a mess,” and waited for the paste ones to stand up and wave so we could wrap this up. All those tubes, though, sat there with their attitudes as if defiantly saying, “Figure us out, lady.”
When my kids were little I had a dear friend and neighbor whose husband was a doctor in the Navy. They got stationed in Italy for a few years and we would send letters back and forth to each other. She told me how difficult parts of a life abroad were with three young kids but that there were some things that she loved. Mostly, that her choices were very limited – that there were three TV stations, smaller markets, less places to get things. “It’s freeing,” she said. That was over thirty years ago and that may not be necessarily true anymore but I have thought of that often. How our lives have become a series of micro decisions that are annoying on some days and exhausting on others. It’s toothpaste, deoderant, mascara, detergent, frozen pizza. Canned tomatoes can now be seasoned for chili – firey hot or your basic hot, basil and garlic for spaghetti sauce, no salt, low salt, crushed, diced, whole, whole but peeled.
“I think we should go with this one,” I said grabbing a box off the shelf. It turned out to be what I wanted which was pure luck. I nixed the idea of looking at sweatshirts one more time and we headed to the checkout.
A simple life they say, aim for a simple life but I’m looking at a claim that my new toothpaste can provide 24 hours of antibacterial protection. The science can’t possibly back that one up and I’ve got five tubes of a marketer’s dream customer because wearing one out is also a strategy.
