Tonight while I was doing a typical round-about through the Holy Grail of all shopping establishments, K and I debated on Target’s actual hours. Turns out, they close at eleven. Eleven PM! It’s like Christmas-come-early in the Lara household tonight. WEEE!!
Nothing about perusing the aisles of Target at 10:30 pm on a Monday seemed out of the ordinary to me. I am the night owl who yearns for the holidays simply for the extended shopping hours. I swear I am the most productive any one person can be after 9 pm. So, doing laps to combine entertainment, a shopping fix and obvious workout (it was too drizzly to walk the lake) seemed completely normal.
Until I got the following text:
“Wait you’re at Target NOW?”
Crap. My obsession has been exposed. Maybe if I play dumb he’ll never realize that I am dodging the question. “Huh?”
“You said you’re at Target again…like right now?”
As it happens, the “I can’t hear you, I’m going through a tunnel” doesn’t work via text message. Something about the signal working and the person on the other end actually receiving the text in a decent matter of time. Avoidance is probably your best option here.
Target is the one-stop-shop that no one can refuse. If you’re immediate response to this was, “I can” then we probably aren’t really friends, and if we are I’m faking it. (Speaking of faking it, I saw a girl I went to high school with there tonight. As our paths crossed, no contact of any sort was made. Pft. Some Facebook friend she is.)
It’s two floors of extensive homeware meets ‘designed by [insert designer I’ve never heard of before] for Target’ meets everything but produce grocery shopping…all of which equals a mecca of happiness in my world.
And it was here that K and I realized we may, or may not – because let’s not jump to conclusions, be a combination of impulse shoppers…also known as addicts. While avoiding a simple “Yes, I am at Target,” K slinked over to the cart with a box of Kashi, which she clearly needed and was obviously on her Target list under ‘argyle socks’ (YAY for MY birthday!) and above ‘book for Mom.’ As I piled in a few G2’s, because you never know when dehydration can hit even though it’s probably a Sunday morning (lush!), on top of everything else I deemed ‘needed,’ K had an epiphany.
“We need to go. ASAP.” Turns out, what’s NOT normal is trying to figure out how you can utilize pastel-colored, bunny-shaped Marshmellows. Or the butterfly cookie cutters next to them. Oooooh Target clearance, how I love thee.
Did I need eggs? No.
Did I buy a cartoon of eggs because they were only 10¢? Yes.
THEY WERE 10¢!! Again with the clearance.
Now, as it happens, friends/pals/champs, I am exhausted from all of the walking/escalatoring I did earlier tonight.
What’s escalatoring? Yes, it is exactly as it sounds. And no, I do not ride the escalators as a mean of entertainment…although now that you mention it, I will probably be the mom that lets her child try to run up the down escalator. Why? Because I find the hampster-wheel effect extremely hilarious, and well, if s/he’s fast enough it will be an ice cream worthy feat. If not, I can always adopt-out.
Escalatoring is essential during your Target-tour. It’s inevitable that you will forget the sponges, convince yourself they are on the floor you are headed to and then realize that no, in fact, they are on the floor you just left.
Way to go genius. (Read: me.)
Because of this, you want to master the art of riding the Target escalators. Getting your cart to go up the cart escalator without jamming it. And managing to avoid that dang child that is running the opposite direction in hopes that her asshat of a mother will buy her ice cream.
For all of you that are wondering, no, my mother never let me do this. Rather, there were extensive escalator rules that a child known to go rogue such as myself was reminded of frequently.