On Oreos
I'm cruising the Costco aisles in our weekly quest for seven gallons of milk (nonorganic, reduced fat, from a cow) and other family-of-six staples. Five pounds of hamburger, check. Trix-Lucky Charms-Cocoa Puffs econo-box, check. Froot-by-the-foot by the crate, check. Vat of Lemon Lime Gatorade Instant Mix ("Makes 9 Gallons!"), check.
"Oreo, Mommy!" I turn to reply, until I realize that, for a change, the little voice doesn't belong to one of mine. It's coming from the cart just ahead. A three-year-old with auburn ringlets, a sequinned cashmere hoodie, and what I swear look like a very shrunken pair of True Religion jeans rises from the quilted seat liner placed to protect her from the germ-infested seat, and lunges ecstatically. The mere sight of those flying black discs with the creamy iced centers will do that to a kid. "I want Oreo! I want Oreo!" "No, Willow," says a tall woman in yoga pants and a tight T-shirt that says "Co-exist." "Oreo! Oreo!" "Oreo yuck!" Mommy replies. "Icky!" "Not icky!" the toddler insists. "Oreo my best!" "Look here, Willi. Apples! Apples rock! We'll have shiny apple moons when we get home! Yay!" "OreOOOOOOOOOO!" Mommy shoots me an embarrassed look. "Honestly, I don't know how they find out about these things," she murmurs as she rolls Willi away toward greener aisles. My hand freezes in mid-air. I was just about to reach for a gleaming royal blue three-pound 10-pack myself. For a second, a full-grown Willow glides across my consciousness, lean and apple-cheeked, while my own four darlings galumph around their future like choco-toxicated Booh-Bahs. It occurs to me that I am about to commit an act so vile that it's banned at the two groceries nearest to my house. Neither Whole Foods nor Earth Fare--their very names signaling their priorities as clearly as Costco's--stock Oreos. Neither do they carry Diet Coke, Campbell's soup, Toast-Chee crackers, Velveeta Shells 'n Cheese, or most of the brand-names we live on. Of course they do carry pricey all-natural imitations that nobody around here will touch, as well as picture-perfect produce with twice the price tag and exactly the same nutritional value of Costco's "conventional" greens. Now I picture another future for the organically-grown Willow. This time she's secretly gorging herself on forbidden chocolate and ice cream every time she gets a chance while Henry, Eleanor, Margaret, and Page do what they do most afternoons: dunk a few Oreos in a glass of after-school milk and move on to homework and play. The cookies go in my cart--as they do every time I shop. |
 
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