Once upon a time, there was a blogger who had never really seriously dreamed of being a princess, but who was nevertheless determined to stop casting herself in the role of a troll.
Grrr! Roar! Frangmozzle! Roar!
One day, this blogger used her magical telepathic woodland animal friends (who live inside her Kodajone phone) to ask for the company of her dazzling, dancing, coffee-making friend on a Sunday morning adventure. This dazzling, dancing, coffee-making friend, you see, had a secret key.
A secret key/membership card to the magical wonderland of Costco.
What happened after that was an emotional rollercoaster of rollercoastering emotions.
At first, Costco created sadness. Sadness at seeing endless packets of shelf-stable meat. Sadness at a shelf-stable meat that you hate for its tendency to, in your prior life as a casual cafe worker cooking bacon and egg rolls for hours every Saturday morning, infest your hair/skin/clothes with its aroma.
Sadness at the realisation that if this is “real” crumbled bacon, then there must also be “fake” crumbled bacon. Although, come to think of it, maybe fake bacon wouldn’t have left me with such traumatised high-school-job memories?
Happiness! Oh, happiness! All [real or fake] bacon sadness was forgotten as I desperately tried to pull every jar of Poppycock from the Poppycock Tower into my arms, cheered on by passing strangers.
(No, really. Two strangers applauded.)
Soaking meat. Moist raw meat. Pads. Sanitary napkins. Meat. Meat soak pads.
This still gives me nightmares.
Wheels of cheese!
Because it gives me this:
P.S. First, second, and third person all in the one post. That’s got to be a record.