Dumped at Costco

So I have this friend, or I HAD this friend, let's just call her Flake. Flake and I used to meet at Costco every Friday to eat pizza and let our kids play. It was so good, I never thought it would end. It's not that we had so much in common - she's young and fresh, I'm old and much better looking.

Sure, she's been having marital problems. But now she has this Other Interest, a person who fixes her family's computers, and now she's all about IT Guy. In fact, she's so all about him that Costco this Friday (that would be today) was a barren wasteland. There was no call about going to Costco. Me and Costco are standing there in the choking desert breeze, our clothes tattered, our hearts beating a dull sound. Like the sound of no one is shopping here anymore.

I'm just letting you know because it can happen to you. Enjoy your pizza and all the soda you can drink while it is still flowing, and the friends are frolicking amongst you. Someday an IT guy will come along and fix a bunch of loose wires on your friend and then you won't have a friend anymore because she's in Camarillo all the time.

I do know that my friend Flake had many years of a crap relationship. She is so happy to have happy I.T. in her life. She's had 11 years of kids that require medications just so they can eat a sandwich like the rest of us. She is letting loose. I did the same thing this year with a big fat horse, well maybe not the SAME thing. But in case she never comes back, since in our deflated tire circle of friends it's the Year of the One Parent Goes Crazy, I want you to know that that soda was really good, man. Those free sample Fridays were worth it.

I will be crouched over my kitchen table in bad lighting working on a poster comparing Ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt while Nathan jiggles his foot and looks out the window, dying to go bike riding. I'll be slumped in the office chair helping Emma write her report on tragic Indians forced to live in Missions for the illustrious California 4th grade history. Yes, those Costco moments, it might not sound like much. I will be running there, in my dreams, in slow motion, as the computer screen gets blurry with my own tears. I will shop alone. Don't worry. I still have my big fat horse, and my treadmill and my pirated copy of "Moneyball." I will paint war paint on my face.

I will go back for more free samples.