As if there aren't enough demands on my life, the recent makeover of my neighborhood supermarket has compelled me to dress up and put on makeup to shop.

I do not like this. Usually I try to skulk in and out of the grocery wearing a baggy overshirt and dark sunglasses, avoiding eye contact with customers and employees.

You see, I like to shop in relative privacy and anonymity. My favorite times to hit the food aisles are after 10 at night or before 7 in the morning, not only because that's about the only free time I have during the day to shop, but also because I am least likely to meet anyone I know. Or anyone, period.

I don't want to have to engage in meaningless banter with a casual acquaintance while trying to discreetly position a bag of baby carrots over two pints of Cherry Garcia. It's bad enough I have to reveal my eating habits to the cashier and bagger.

And do you ever get about halfway through unloading your cart and realize that 80 percent of what you picked out is junk food? Before you can grab back the offending items and redeem yourself, the Royal Creems, Milanos, Doritos, taquitos and Bagel Bites have made their way along the all-revealing conveyor of shame to the laser scanner that transmits a detailed list of your purchases to a dossier in Pleasanton, Calif., with your name on it.

Don't you just want to run out of the store?

That's why they say you should take a list, but I'm not a big list person. I pretty much live and food-shop on the fly. I am the perfect undisciplined consumer, coveted by marketing types who make their fortunes figuring out how to get people like me into the store more frequently, stay longer and spend more money.

Apparently the best way to do this is to turn down the lighting, revamp the decor from early warehouse to old-world chic, and create intimate food nooks.

The supermarket has become a virtual obstacle course that requires you to maneuver your cart past the sushi counter and deli, around the antipasto station, the hot-soup kiosk, the coffee bar and flower shop, and through the bakery, where you have to dodge all those baskets filled with fresh-baked bread.

Mmm ... bread.

The store feels more like a dinner club than a place to go to stock up on Hot Pockets and Cap'n Crunch.

The changes no doubt are designed to make grocery shopping seem less like a chore and more like a social occasion. Working moms like myself, who no longer have the time, money or will to hit the town, can now enjoy an hour or two out at the supermarket and feel like we have some sort of life.

I blame Costco. With its free samples, unique inventory and cheap hot dogs, Costco, the mecca for undisciplined shoppers, has made going to the store an event.

And for sure you are going to see someone you know at Costco.

Reach Christie Wilson at cwilson@honoluluadvertiser.com.