Here we have my Costco folly. It has been sitting in my car trunk since I bought it with a coupon at Costco about a month ago. For a nanosecond, the giant box of food storage containers seemed like a good idea, and it was just $20, with the coupon.

By the time I got to the check-out counter, I was completely over the giant box of food storage containers and knew it was an ill-conceived impulse grab. But I felt strangely helpless to stop the march of events through check-out. Before I knew it, I was wheeling my giant box of food storage containers toward the car, already planning to return it.

It’s not that we can’t use some new food storage containers. Our collection is sad and stained. We’ve had to toss a couple that split at the seams. Some of it was supposed to be disposable but was never disposed of. It dates back a few Christmases, came to us filled with Christmas goodies.

That’s one of the problems. Believe it or not, some of my old food storage containers have sentimental value. We have the holiday treats memory. One of our containers has “Zsa Zsa Battles” written in Sharpie on the lid. We used it to send kibble to the kennel. We have a salad container that belonged to our late friend Kevin Findley. It was not significant to his life in any way, but it’s a homely little daily reminder of someone we miss.

In a way, my Costco folly is a hostile interloper, trying to force its fancy big city “snapware” ways into my cozy little ragtag collection.

Also, we really don’t need 32 food storage containers. The giant box contains enough food containers to contain the food of a family of 12. There are just three of us (we have already ascertained that dogs use food storage containers in this house).

I blame the coupon. I got a catalog of coupons from Costco and felt compelled to use some. Had it not been for the coupon, I wouldn’t have given the giant box of food storage containers a glance, despite its prominent display in the store. But I had been recently annoyed by our food storage containers, which are not the least bit modular and frequently topple out of the cupboard. I had a coupon and the giant box of food containers was right there in front of my face. A confluence of events forced my hand. I couldn’t not buy the giant box of food storage containers.

I considered trying to hide it from Tom but wasn’t completely sure if he would be disgusted or delighted. Tom can still surprise me sometimes. He’d been griping about our incorrigible pile of unstackable old food storage containers recently. Still, I wasn’t surprised when he expressed puzzled dismay at the giant box of food storage containers. I immediately assured him that I would return it.

But, as you see, that never happened. The thing has never made it out of my car trunk. It sits next to the plastic bags that will someday be recycled. Every time I open the trunk, I feel ashamed. Were it not for the shame, I might open the box and take out a few storage containers to replace some of our most tired old food containers. But as long as the old grotty ones work, that feels wasteful. And as long as the box remains sealed, I can delude myself that someday I will return it to Costco or give it away as a gift to someone I don't like very much.

Will that ever happen? Maybe. Or maybe someday I will take my Costco folly out of the car and put it in the garage where it will live a lonely and neglected life. Not unlike the goddam shoe wheel (which at least lives in the house).

Labels: costco, memoir, shopping