Wednesday, January 23, 2013


I feel like this mysterious emporium deserves it's very own post.

I am perplexed by Target. Something is just not right about that place. If I were to make a guess, I'd say that there is an evil mastermind in every store, hidden and sitting behind a massive control board.  And I'd be willing to bet that that control board has the ability to completely overcome anyone who walks through those ominous front sliding doors. Like, some sort of beam scans your brain upon entry and, in response, the Target patron is no longer in control of his/her own thinking or decisions.

  The more I think about it, the more this makes sense. I mean, truly, as soon as we walk in, I am certain some sort of mischievous wizard behind a closed curtain lets out an awful, mean, sadistic laugh and flips on some sort of switch which immediately tricks my kids into thinking that their cute little bodies are covered in fire-breathing vampire spider-ants and they are left no option but to frantically run through the aisles. Then he flips yet another switch and my helpless children, at that moment, wholeheartedly believe that if they do not have each and every toy, crayon, and fruit snack on each and every shelf they will die a slow painful death. So there they are, my seemingly bewitched and hypnotized kids, ferociously grabbing at every shiny package while sprinting and screaming and twitching and ripping off their skin as their hair turns into snakes and they shoot lasers out of their eyes. Or something.

That said, I am actually not allowed to shop there. Because, in all reality, what really REALLY happens is, at some point, between the front door and the checkout line, lies an invisible black hole/vortex where the prices of items, once combined at the magical register, somehow equal 700% of their ticketed price. Or like, I black out and buy things that, not only, do I not need, but I don't even remember purchasing. I go in for band-aids and toilet paper, let's say. In a foggy mysterious haze, after I fill my cart with what I thought I needed, I  then walk up to the register, blankly hand over my American Express to the warlock-cashier and she informs me that my total is $180. I spend the entire drive home horrified and confused, my inner monologue going something like, "but $5 plus $18 equals $23! I just... I don't...???," then I get home to unveil a new bathing suit, cat food, and thirty-seven dish towels. I don't even have a cat! It's a dangerous place. Stay away. I'm serious!

Anyway, back to the kids. Yesterday I went to the store that shall remain unnamed. I had run out of paper towels and Lysol due to the plague that had dismembered my family this whole week, and I didn't have the strength for Costco (which is a store capable of a whole different, and even more dangerous level of brainwashing trickery). Avery wanted a toy, but I refused to get her one because she was being an asshole. What? She was! She did the whole "you're a bad mommy!!!!!!" thing to me again after I wouldn't vouch for the princess bubble bath that makes her break out in hives. She was vehemently refusing to walk, and at one point scurried off, then pretended that I left her in the cleaning supplies aisle, dramatically wailing, "My mommy left meeee!!!" It was mean.
So. Yeah, no toy. And thanks to a combination of a miserably ill four year old and the brain control wizardry overtaking my daughter at the moment, she would not budge on this damn toy. She couldn't just let it go. She didn't even know what kind of toy she so desperately wanted! And she whined. The whole time. She wanted the toy while we were in the pet aisle. She wanted the toy as we passed the greeting cards and the make-up and the tampons. She wanted a toy especially bad in the checkout aisle, because the certainty of my anti-toy stance was becoming evermore apparent at that point. People stared and rolled their eyes as my daughter chanted, "I want a toy! I want a toy! I want a toy!," over and over and over while I ignored and ignored and ignored.  And after I emptied my checking account on godknowswhat, she needed to pee, still shout-whining her toy-obsessed mantra from the toilet stall. This is the moment where I decided I'd reach for my iPhone and start video taping her lunacy because I needed something to show CPS when they asked me why I "did it".

So I have it all recorded. Like I'm going to ever be at a place in my life where I sigh, kick my feet up, and say to myself, "Hey. It's been a while since I've seen a tantrum. Let me pull up that old Target meltdown thing again. That's tantrum gold, right there."

In her defense, as I mentioned, she had the flu. She complained of a stomach ache all day, and since I wasn't feeling too hot myself, I suggested we go out for dinner. At the restaurant, waiting for our table, Avery became very still, and said very calmly, "Oh my gosh! I'm starting to throw up!," At that, I took her by the hand, and led her to the bathroom where she very cleanly puked in the toilet. Her aim was perfect, and I held her hair back like we were just a couple girlfriends getting wasted at a frat party. Only difference was she had the flu.

 I still got wasted though. It's been quite the week.


  1. I think your blog is hilarious. I can totally relate to nearly everything you write. Love it.

  2. You are so right about Target! I take my kid in there, and she takes off running like it is the funniest thing in the world. Then I walk out with way more than I needed. Thank goodness the closest one is an hour away.

  3. I've stayed out of Target for almost 3 weeks. I should get a medal.

  4. omg, you might be too much! I'm rolling over here at your stories. Love the way to tell them. I'm taking notes, girl you've got more figured out than you think!
    Looking forward to the Costco post...that place screws me the same way Target does...

  5. Haha, this post is too true and too funny. Not sure what kind of dark magic target has, but it definitely exists...$200 later! New follower and so excited to read your blog!