I'll Admit It.

After work yesterday, I stopped by my happy place, Costco, to pick up some things. I've not made my love for Costco a secret at all. There is nothing I love more than hobnobbing with Loudoun County's finest. 

Like them, I pay for a membership to be able to shop there. It makes me feel special. It also makes me feel like I should buy a 200-count shrimp cocktail platter to eat in between bites of a ginormous chocolate cake that I would also purchase for no particular reason other than if you didn't purchase anything, your membership would be a complete waste.

Makes perfect sense to me.

I did my usual route today - vegetables, that dreaded cold and damp vegetable cooler, then snacks and I thought I'd swing by the books just to take a gander. And BOOM. None other than Gwyneth Paltrow spoke to me.

Well, kind of.

Basically, I saw this cover and thought, "YEAH, it IS all good if you're Gwyneth Paltrow and married to Chris Martin and have a super successful blog and are friends with Jay Z and Beyonce and can do whatever the crap you want because you're GWYNETH FLIPPIN' PALTROW (sing at the Grammy's? Don't mind if I DO!)."

So I bought the book. Because it will give me that life.

I also bought some other stuff to get a kick start on that life.

On my way out, I thought I should probs keep with tradition and stop for the greatest hot dog this world has ever seen. But under the powerful and ever-judgemental eye of Lady Paltrow, I decided against it. Instead I spent my evening learning the ins and outs of how-to-be-Gwyneth-Paltrow whilst enjoying handfuls of lightly salted styrofoam peanuts popcorn.

Tomorrow, I go raw.