This morning I pulled into the Costco parking lot at 9:15. Part of me knew that the store doesn’t open until 10:00, and another part of me felt hopeful that it would open at 9:00. (Another part of me can’t be bothered to take 30 seconds to look up the store hours. Sometimes I like to pretend that life is trickier than it really is. Oh, life.)
As I sat in my car (without a book or a knitting project) waiting for the Costco doors to slide open, I noticed a piece of paper flying around in the parking lot. I decided that whatever was on that piece of paper would guide me into my next adventure. (I was hoping it was a sushi menu.) I got out of my car and ran toward the paper. (No one was watching. At least that’s what I told myself. I like to live like I’m in a Lee Ann Womack song.) It blew out of my reach at least four times before I was finally able to stomp on it and pick it up.
It was not a sushi menu.
I now hold evidence showing that a Costco member purchased two hot dog/soda combos and $57 worth of razor blades at approximately 5:12 yesterday evening. After having their receipt marked by the farewell employee with the Sharpie, they walked out to their car and either dropped or threw the record of their purchase into the night.
And now I have it, and am using it as an adventure invitation. The only adventure it suggests is the shaving of all my body hair (one blade per swipe, presumably) before I feast on chicken eyes and cow lips. This is unacceptable.