I stupidly, stupidly took both girls to Costco on a Friday. A Friday that happens to be pay day for a lot of people. The place was a madhouse, as smarter people would expect.
We finally got through line with a ridiculously not-worth-the-trouble load including little thing of raspberries, milk, bread, and Bar Keepers Friend (who needs predictable), after waiting in line for 14 years.
It was Caroline's first ever trip to Costco, and she really wanted to eat lunch there "in the fancy restaurant." When I saw the long line there, I suggested we just get her favorite treat in the world -- french fries -- en route home. She wouldn't budge.
We waited in that line for 6 additional years, and finally we sat down with a piece of pizza and a berry smoothie for her, and the famous hot dog combo for me. I was all sweaty from moving the cart around the tiny cafe aisles, Sylvie woke up and wanted out of her car seat to see the world, and I was pretty fried at the logistics of how to get through this meal. I just sat there looking at my overcooked beef frank and wondering why I agreed to this, when Caroline piped up with, "Mom, you know, it's a beautiful day here at the Costco."