The first is obvious in that you should never venture to the superstore wearing khakis and a red polo—the Target uniform—unless you’re prepared to answer questions from shoppers about where to find moisturizer or Archer Farms cereal.
Target fixes all.
Somewhere along the line it spread through the stay-at-home-mom circle that Target is the best place to bring your screaming child on a Friday morning, because they are everywhere.
Dresses, makeup, gifts, traveling, parties, showers. Everyone is getting married. Everyone ever. I can barely cope with the fact that I’m the lone wolf at every wedding, let alone that you registered for a $279 juicer. Totes happy for you though.
He says, “You eat popcorn while walking around Target. That’s awkward.”
If you haven’t already learned from every previous New Years’ of your life that resolutions do not work, then maybe you would also like to lend some money to this Nigerian prince I know who will totally pay you back three fold.
It must be the lighting. In normal situations, isn’t exposure to bright, industrial, fluorescent light known to bother people? And give them headaches? And make them twitch? Or melt into a sad, sappy puddle? Not at Target.
We can dig deeper and try to get to the bottom of why we lose self-control upon entering a Target, or we can just accept the red & khaki wizard regime’s mysterious abilities to make us disregard shopping lists and toss things in our carts with reckless abandon.
There’s a quote from Mike Tyson that went something like “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.” That concept applies to entering the palace of altered strategy known as Target.
1. The person who insists the back-room is the size of Texas. Dude, it’s probably a 30 square foot room with like 6-10 boxes, two of which are full of clothes hangers. So no, believe it or not we don’t have a medium sized, pewter colored version of that shirt lying around in the back.