Romancing the Bulls Eye

My husband is not alone on an island of ignorance in the Bikini Atolls, and there are unsuspecting husbands all across our great country, blissfully unaware of the financial damage a Target store, home to the greatest bargains, can do to their bottom lines. That is a good thing.

When wives tell husbands, "I'm going to Target for toilet paper," the average dad thinks, "great, I'll be able to wipe my kiester for two more weeks." They don’t understand code. In my house, "going to Target for toilet paper," translates into “going for sparkly crystal costume jewelry, new puffy throw pillows and unnecessary toys.” Or, dog accessories, pajamas for niece Phoebe, facial cleanser, many hair barrettes, soccer balls and redundant pairs of shoes. It means candy and snacks and coffee and gum and mini-muffins galore.  It's a quenching fountain diet coke with clinking ice from the soda fountain and Bachman's pretzels to munch on as I skip up and down the aisles like Veruca Salt in Wonka Land.

My average 12-pack of Target toilet paper costs me a minimum of $350.00.  That's like wiping your ass with double-ply sheets of gold.

Arriving at Target is an instant booster shot of joy. We are there often enough that my children think all the red-shirted people working there are actually our relatives once removed. How tender that I walk into our local Target and Raul is so happy to see me and gives me a hug.  Pushing an orange Target shopping cart is like being behind the wheel of a Ferrari.  They never jam, can hold an 80-pound kid, are always available and almost never have a wobbly, squawking wheel.  I challenge a Target shopper to find a cart that only steers to its East like the carts at my Waldbaums.  

Announcement:  Though I gush, this is not a paid testimonial. It just happens that a Target bull’s eye is my True North. Layouts are uniform and inviting.  Iowa, Maine, New Orleans, New York – wherever your travels take you – you can head straight for vacuums and doggy poop bags. Like the blind mouse locating its cheese, I don't even need my sight to get where I’m going, not to mention that the “Target Effect” seems to morph adults into friendly mode like a group of vacationers tucked safely inside the sanctuary of an all-inclusive Club Med hot spot. And there are always children who make you proud of your own!

Need shelter in a bad storm? Head to your nearest Target. It is fortified. Dry. Filled with food and drink, pristine restrooms and tons of activities to keep your kids occupied and out of trouble.  You'll also have plenty of clean clothing, an available change of underwear, bedding and magazines to read until the blizzard passes.

The risks of a local Target are serious and the rewards addicting.  Risky because a mommy left unattended in a Target is like leaving a Gambler in an OTB. Say goodbye to your cash.  Rewarding because everything is so damn cute at Target and the lower prices make moms everywhere feel as if they are saving money not spending it.  Good luck going in for toilet paper and coming out with just toilet paper or any toilet paper at all. Usually, I go in for toilet paper and come out with everything but. Todd ends up having to wipe his ass with newspaper for a few days.

That my mom successfully raised me and Jess without a Target Rehabilitation center nearby is a miracle.  No matter the chaos of a school morning, Target is a good B12 shot that gets me back on my axis.  Target shopping is homeopathy for the soul.  

No matter that I have to drive 40 minutes in red-light traffic each way.  No matter that I should be cleaning the house and dying my over-due grey roots instead of romancing the bulls eye.  No matter that I haven't paid the bills yet or sorted through the mail or sent in my taxes.  It's my analysis. I figure a good shrink in Manhattan is about $275 an hour.  You can come out of a  good hour in Target for the same or less with non-refundable happiness guaranteed. See you in the snack aisle...