May Ann Fitzmorris / L’Observateur / November 24, 2000

A turkey sells at the supermarket for 49 cents a pound this time of year. The average turkey is 12 pounds. You do the math.Right about now I am obsessed with a Bonus Club Card. Even my husband, who usually sniffs at such blatant foolishness, remembers this essential bit of plastic before the one that could pay for all the other groceries.

Why do we do this? We ask ourselves this question every time we go through the checkout line, only do discover that the card is somewhere at home. My husband is devastated by such a realization, although it has become amusing to me. I am stunned to see him so sucked in by this gambit, since he prides himself on his knack of finding the most expensive version of everything.

He is so completely taken in by this particular game that the man who forgets birthdays can remember, long before it is time, which day we can starting earning Bonus Club Points.

The supermarkets realize that their hook is successful. We have been driven to new levels of personal discipline by this challenge. First, we managed to keep those receipts for amazing lengths of time, and actually remembered them when it was turkey-shopping time! But this year the supermarkets changed the rules. It has been tough on the careless among us. My husband’s spirit was broken when he showed up with his wad of receipts from the days when he wasn’t packing his Bonus Club Card. He was informed at the register that he only had $228 to his credit, and that his old practice of updating the account was no longer acceptable.

Curses! He spent $100 that day. A hundred dollars that evaporated into thin air!! Nothing to show for it! (Except, of course, those boring groceries.)My husband determined to mend his ways. That never happened again. Now he never leaves home without that Bonus Club Card.

If only we could find motivation like a free turkey for every aspect of our life, I just know we could reform. But really, what could be more exciting than a free turkey? How could anything else measure up? This gobbler distraction began to bother me a little this year. I checked around to see if others were walking this turkey tightrope. A friend confessed that she had finally kicked the habit when her mother yelled at her for calling every time she went to the store. It was very considerate for this woman to check with her mother to see if she needed anything from the store. But this mom was considerably smarter than turkeys are rumored to be, and she caught on to the fact that the daughter only offered this service at turkey time. Her mother didn’t appreciate being used, even for such a noble venture.

Letting it go was really tough that first year, she explained. Unable to go “cold turkey” (pardon me, please!), she saved her receipts for a week or so. Finally she was able to get over it and get on with her life, but only after she realized her mother had joined the race for the turkey.

After all, their holiday table couldn’t be disgraced by a bird they had actually PAID FOR, could it? My husband was relieved to hear that he wasn’t the only one ensnared by this challenge, but I didn’t divulge his other, darker turkey compulsion.

For weeks throughout the holiday season, he watches the price of turkeys like some futures trader, marveling as they get lower and lower.

One year he reported with glee that stores everywhere were selling the poor surplus birds for a mere 11 cents a pound. Oddly enough, the excitement over that fact made him even more diverted by the supermarket turkey game.

We went to great lengths to save our $1.25.I began to be concerned that all these birds had been killed for nothing, since that price indicated excessive supply, but my husband found this thrilling. It’s almost as if he hates turkey.Come to think of it, he does!

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