Is it wrong that sometimes, on Fridays mostly, that Matt and I go to Costco for a cheap lunch?

After—at my behest, of course—we prowl the aisles for samples, we settle in at the snackbar for a hot dog. I wanted to go with pizza today but if it means choosing between pizza and Quebec’s greatest contribution to junk food, frites avec sauce, then I have to go with the frites. I have yet to meet a potato I didn’t like, people. So yeah, some Fridays, we go there, sit at the snack bar and feel like complete and utter white trash. Only more well-dressed (Matt especially). So maybe, next time, pizza?