Visiting Target isn’t an outing I meticulously plan. Sure, I jot down a list and check my Cartwheel app, but as I step through those iconic doors, I feel as though I’m racing against time. An hour can vanish in the blink of an eye, and so can the contents of my wallet. While every trip is bound to bring some surprises, the outcomes are rarely unexpected. I can’t recall a time when I walked into Target with a list and emerged with only those items—or sometimes, even any of them. A list for Target is more like a gentle suggestion than a firm guide.
I have a well-established routine for my Target excursions. I always enter through the pharmacy section—a perfect metaphor for my relationship with this retail haven. I meander through the makeup aisles, often picking up a lipstick shade I’ll never wear since I can’t resist chewing my lips, and lipstick just doesn’t taste good. Next, I visit the cleaning supplies. Sometimes, I genuinely need toilet bowl cleaner, but most of the time, I’m just on the hunt for that elusive product that will finally eliminate the grime lurking behind my pantry door. Hope springs eternal, right?
I typically skip the food aisles but extend my browsing time to the throw pillow section instead. I might glance at table runners, but I quickly remember that any table runner I purchase will likely end up crumpled to one side of our dining table, which is perpetually cluttered with mail and other odds and ends. Our table seats six, so if I ever have four kids, I’ll need a bigger one to accommodate the Pottery Barn catalogs I’ve neglected to recycle.
Then, I drift over to the shoe aisle. Do I need shoes? Absolutely not. But who can resist a pair of $6 ballet flats on clearance? They’re disposable! I can wear them for those inevitable messy moments. And why not grab three pairs of boots that look nearly identical, just with different buckle placements? After that, I remind myself to stay focused and hurry past the men’s clothing section since I need to stick to my list.
Seasonal items weren’t on my list, but that’s a glaring oversight on my part. There’s a plethora of Easter decorations and patio furniture available, all of which I feel compelled to buy, even if there’s a foot of snow outside. They can sit in my living room for a month until spring arrives—that’s called being proactive, my friends. I’m ready for any springtime emergencies with an abundance of Reese’s Eggs and ceramic planters!
When I reach the baby section, I’m reminded that it’s been over a year since I last had an infant, but I can’t help but admire the onesies. Shopping for baby products is much like seeking cleaning supplies—maybe they’ve released the magical item that will solve all my problems? I have to move slowly so I don’t miss it. I skip the electronics, DVDs, and books, claiming my willpower is strong enough to resist temptation. But the dollar bins? They’re overflowing today! I inevitably leave with a cart full of treasures.
My final stop is always the women’s clothing section because I’ve earned a new shirt. Those cardigans would be adorable if they weren’t already hanging in my closet. After paying, I step outside, only to find that darkness has fallen, despite having started my shopping adventure at lunchtime.
Today, I set out for Target with a list: two curtain rods, pillows for the basement couch, DVD storage boxes, wipes, and a toy basket. What made this trip particularly noteworthy was my self-imposed time limit. I left home at 1:30 PM, needing to return before my husband had to leave for the eye doctor at 2:40. Initially, I thought I could handle it. “You can’t get in and out of Target in an hour?” my skeptical husband challenged. Determined, I promised not to browse and to stick to my list.
However, I returned an hour later with just two items: wipes and a surge of frustration. Most of what I needed was home décor, requiring careful examination and perhaps the approval of a trusted friend via texted pictures. The countdown was literally echoing in my ears. I had forgotten about the time-warp phenomenon that exists within Target’s walls. It’s just a curtain rod. “This one is ugly; this one is cute. Wait, what’s a café rod? Do I need that?” The internal dialogue continued as I wandered over to the pillows, repeating the same analysis until 2:20 PM when I finally grabbed a box of wipes, paid, and rushed out. I returned home just in time to see Adam putting on his shoes. “I bought wipes. I’m going to eat some cookies. This was the worst day of my life.”
Target knows your budget and time constraints. It sees your overdue rent and your reminders to pick up the kids from school. It notices the DVDs still in their shrink wrap and the café rod you already own but can’t recall the name of. And Target laughs. For while it sees, it remains indifferent.
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Summary
In this humorous take on a mom’s shopping trip to Target, we follow Jessica as she navigates the store with a list but inevitably gets sidetracked by enticing items and the store’s overwhelming allure. Despite her best intentions, she leaves with only wipes and a sense of frustration, illustrating the all-too-familiar experience many parents face when shopping at Target.