So I didn't get a chance to talk about me and Sam's Sam's Club trip last post, because I was too busy being driven to madness and thinking of ways to write the possessive "Sam's" twice in a row. But I shall do so now.
Ah, Sam’s Club. For a mere 35 dollars a year one can indulge in the kind of bulk binge buying usually reserved for Sumo Wrestling Cafeteria Cooks and Y2K Hoarders. Yesterday Sam and I did it for free courtesy of a coupon that was a month expired and only good in California, South Carolina and one city in New York.
We wheeled our oversized cart from isle to joyous isle, stocking up on everything non-perishable our house could ever need, even if we lived there for ten more years. Which we might, now that we have awesome new dish soap and a box of Cascade that looks like four phone books taped together.
It became a contest to see who would come up with the most outrageous item. The house topped my 15-pack of Macaroni & Cheese with two 18-packs of paper towels that formed something like a hay bale in our shopping cart. Sam and I both topped that with a five-pound jar of Peter Pan Peanut Butter… each. I thought I had it made with 18 hotdogs shrink-wrapped together – nothing like 3 pounds of beaks and testicles for 4 dollars. But Sam eventually won out with his unprecedented purchase of 1500 plastic eating utensils – a 500 count box each of knives, forks and spoons. Those things will seriously biodegrade before he uses them all. We decided not to opt for the 2-pack of trampolines.
Yes, Sam’s Club is the greatest. Yes, we’ll be back, and I’m hoping soon. And yes, it’s only a matter of time before I join Costco. Because it's the same thing just closer.