I’m sure you’ve opened your fridge three or four times today and wondered why the entire top rack is filled with carton upon carton of egg whites.

When you peel back the brittle layer of an egg you realize quickly, and messily, that Costco is our collective Siren. We’ve all driven our shopping carts into that chilly room of their warehouse, and walked out carrying cardboard boxes of consumables that bear an incredible 50 g of protein at 200 calories per pound of liquid (or 1/512 of a hogshead).

Once you’ve finished the imperial to metric conversions, you’ll realize that I am right.

But there is a more important question we should be asking: what is Kirkland doing with all of those yolks and where can I buy all of the yellow cake that they are baking and then throwing in the dumpster?

You know this yellow cake.

It is the same kind of yellow cake you have eaten in cup form, at my elementary school birthday parties from the first through third grades.

It is the same kind of yellow cake that masquerades as red velvet and works as the fourth meal in your meat and three.

It  is the same kind of yellow cake that tore apart Betty Crocker and Duncan Hines.

And then when you get the yellow cake, and it is half crammed sideways into your gullet and it is causing your milk to spill down into your green turtleneck as you gurgle the words to “how old am I now,” you realize that it was all worth it.