i love target.

i could spend weeks in target just wandering aimlessly, collecting, sorting, discarding. yes, i definitely need this pink duct tape. perhaps those pajama bottoms look a little ‘too’ massimo. is this real gold? exactly how many clutches is too many clutches? hours spent mulling over a shade of lipstick only to dump it 10 minutes later by the throw pillows. unwanted earrings and pillow cases discarded among the potato chips. AH HA! the last nate berkus pink ruffle throw pillow, in the pet care aisle, and it’s only $4!

it’s horrible, i know. and, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure why it brings so much pleasure. perhaps it’s the solitary nature and anonymity of the place? maybe it’s the size or the sheer jaw-dropping volume of stuff? truth be told, big box stores are not typically my thing.

but target, oh target, i love you.

where else can one move from kitchenwares to foot creams in 2 minutes flat? linger in bedding for hours? flip through 5 magazines and purchase none. hungry? help yourself to a few bags of animal crackers from the dollar bins, go ahead and open them right now, you can pay later, no need to apologize, you were hungry. and you know what else? what really makes target so completely and incredibly fabulous?

no one cares.

at target, you’ll never be asked if you’re finding everything ok, no one wants to start a fitting room for you, did you really just open that bag of animal crackers? doesn’t matter. that red and khaki combo is about as illusive here as high-fashion. it’s truly the antithesis of what any reasonably good shopping experience should be. yet somehow, the moment I walk through those doors, the smell of old buttered popcorn mixing with cheap rubber soles and the sheer anticipation of endless nail polish and picture frames, lip gloss and espadrilles, end tables and sports bras and i’m instantly transported to a higher place.

big, boxy, sprawl-y, suburban. call it what you will, but target, oh target, i love you.

ps. the bill

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