The Costco Factor

Dinner time, especially formal dinner time, has become an endless commercial for Costco and a source of annoyance to myself. Talk of this store has become like the gulf oil spill, nothing can shut it off.

An innocent question about the food being served is immediately answered in a paean to the company whose gas ruins your car engine. A chance comment about a dress or a skirt is immediately taken as an opportunity to sing the praises of the company that makes you pay for the privilege of selling something to you. A question about the salad sends the cook into paroxysms of praise for the company that is too cheap to give you a bag for your purchases. Is nothing unavailable there?

The last straw came as I heard my 3 year old granddaughter playing house. She pretended to go shopping. And where you may ask did she intend to shop? Why at Costco of course and she was going to buy strawberries and blueberries, etc.

So here's a panegyric to the business that women love and men hate. Maybe this will allow the women in my family to get this behind us.


I love to shop at Costco
It's my favorite store
Where, to weed out undesirables
There's a policeman at the door.

Not for them the usual practice
Of wanting to sell to all
They indulge the haughty conduct
Which goest before the fall

They reject the lowly Mastercard
Disdain the downscale Visa
Only Amex will pass muster
That's the card with the luster

I can buy almost anything
That I can eat or use or wear
From meat to fish to pantyhose
Or a sofa or a chair

Fruits out of season
Quantities beyond reason,
Peppers Red Orange and Yellow
Oh, it makes me so mellow

Pay not heed to the feeling
That the quantities are brash
I know I can use most of it
Before it sees the trash

And when I need to haul it home
It fazes me not a whit
That the berry containers burst
Since there is so much of it


I fear that reiteration
Is making me a bore
But I can't help repeating,
It's my favorite store