My mom recently took an unexpected trip to Costco. This may not seem like the direst of crises, but the 400 cans of soup located next to the super-massive-discount-value-bargain-bags of plastic cutlery stacked in my basement beg to differ. My family now owns no less than 30 avocadoes, 46 Handy Snack Bags of Baked Lays Potato Chips, 23 cloves of garlic, 14 kiwis, and countless other items, all of which, my mother assures me, are vital to our existence.

This is a very practical way of shopping, if you ask me.

The underlying philosophy of Costco, I can only assume, is something along the lines of “Why buy a pie when you can buy 13,000 pies?” Judging by the blinding success of Costco and similar discount chains, this seems to be an ideology shared by a many people, most of whom, I imagine, are currently diving into an 80-pound bag of Doritos.

It seems that these massive buildings are springing up on every corner, owing undoubtedly to the growing necessity for 3-ton bags of potato chips.

That's not to say I am not an admirer of bulk shopping. I cannot live without vats of ice cream or tubs of caramel sauce. I love hundred-count packs of shoelaces, and find great joy in the fresh scent of value pack light bulbs. It is a place uncivilized and bleak where you cannot buy eyeglasses and six-packs of ABBA albums in the same building. One-pound bag of jelly beans? Blasphemy! Poppycock! Nonsense! A cockamamie idea! We need at least 600 servings for this snack to be remotely marketable.

Everything in moderation? Really, it was a proverb that needed updating. Obviously the words of someone who never knew the wonder that is a 58-ounce soft drink. Moderation is for squares, which as we all know, are the nerds of the geometric world.

As any pragmatic thinker might, I am forced to wonder what lies on the other end of this mass-marketing spectrum. Some day, I will mosey into a teensy little store and find myself surrounded by infinitesimal wonders. I'll fill my thimble (much cuter than shopping carts) to the brim with microscopic goodies and delight at my wee rebellion against mighty Costco.

Until I find that magical mini store, though, I'm okay with buying my groceries, filling my prescriptions, playing hide and seek in the furniture section, riding yet-to-be-purchased skateboards through the aisles, and eating frozen yogurt at my friendly neighborhood Costco. I don't know if it's just the delicious gluten-free tortilla strips ($3.49 for three pounds!) on which I am currently snacking, but there's something very tasty about the Costco way of life.