What's worse is that our "new Target" has a Starbucks (cha) and a grocery store (ching). It also has covered parking, an elevator, and a separate escalator just for the carts (I'm not joking). I could absolutely live there if I had to (don't think I haven't considered it) and I'm starting to prefer it over the mall as my "shopping-as-exercise" strollerizing course.
Not only has Target become my market, coffee shop, and gym...it's also become my calendar. Afterall, if it weren't for the overstuffed $1 bins at the front of the store, how else would I know that St. Patrick's Day is coming up (I know I don't need green, glittery hat that says "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" but...) or that Easter is around the corner (bunny shaped playing cards for a buck!)? As long as I'm shopping at Target, I can count on a good holiday warning well in advance of even remotely needing to be prepared for the event (back-to-school in July! Christmas lights in September!)
And it doesn't stop there! Target is also a pharmacy, optometrist, and full photo center. Not to mention...Target's got style. You ask any girl you know. ANY. And at some point during her week, at least once, someone has said something looked cute on her and she raised her bargain-loving-eyebrows in response with "Thanks, I got it at Target!" which actually means "I may look like a snob, but I don't shop like one!"
We love it. We love Target and there's no stopping the addiction. Walmart has taken such a backseat that it's become like that long-forgotten extra seatbelt buckle that always gets crammed way down in between the seats - you don't even think about it till you really really need it. And even then you wonder if it's even worth the effort.
While I love (am addicted to, whatever) Target, I have to question my needs nearly every time I go. The so-familiar-it-feels-like-home, palace of consumerism that it is, I find myself wandering around (straying further and further from my list) talking myself into trying a new shade of blush, or might-as-well-isms (cute purse! might as well...). Target! You've got me again! I've fallen into the Target-trap once more when I look at my overflowing cart and realize that it's high time Target and I have a DTR where I hold back the tears and realize, dearest Target...it's not you, it's me. You have the red tag deal, health and beauty steal, the home furnishing ideal, the style appeal...but you can't heal or make me feel what's real, so...really...what's the deal? Put. The. Cute. Purse. Back.
I won't be giving up Target any time soon, don't get me wrong. But the next time I'm making a list of the things I really need: toilet paper, mascara, socks, wet wipes... Maybe I'll be adding Self-control at the very top. I mean, I might as well.