Fruitless: An Ode to Yesterday’s Target Trip

Yesterday, I realized that I had done the classic falling-down-on-the-job thing when I realized that my daughter doesn’t have school this Friday. You know, because of Easter. Because Friday is Good Friday. And my child attends an Episcopalian preschool. (I am dense sometimes.) So aside from realizing that I really need to figure out something fun for us to do on Friday, I remembered that the class Easter party, involving treats that yours truly SAID she was going to provide but had not yet purchased, was on Thursday. I realized that I had to go to Target.
I love Target, I do. But I recently made a vow to myself that I wasn’t going to bring my four-year old to Target with me EVER AGAIN. (Well, it was really more of an oath, taken in blood, by the light of the full moon. That’s how serious I was about this vow.) This decision wasn’t made lightly… I mean, I have two kids. Target is my other home; I’m there a lot. But recently all trips have deteriorated into me frantically hissing “You must stop this behavior or we will turn around and walk right out of here and I MEAN IT” through my teeth at Georgia as she melts into a puddle of whining in the toilet paper aisle. Couple that with the fact that Adele has figured out how to unsnap the belt thingy on both the shopping cart cover AND the actual snap on the cart itself, and attempts to eject herself from the cart with regularity, and it’s a recipe for disaster.
But go to Target I did, and we had some Serious Talks in the car on the way over, and G promised that there would be no whining or asking for things (when we walked in she immediately did both of those things and was not smote by lightning, despite what I told her would happen if she broke said promises.)
I made it through the insane Easter section, tossing into the cart only what was on our list, then headed to the food area where I grabbed a gallon of milk and a bottle of wine (okay, two bottles of wine) and then over to the baby area for wipes. We made our way to the front registers (whining all the way, and I’m including myself in that because I’ve discovered that whining is contagious) and I loaded everything onto the conveyor. At which time I realized that I did not have my wallet.

That’s right. No wallet, and people behind me in line, and frustration oozing from my every pore.

I loaded everything back into the cart, brought it to the customer service area, apologized for my idiocy, and walked out with two screeching children, one hoisted under each arm. I got to the car, wrestled them into the car seats, strapped them in. and sat down to breathe in the front seat… and saw my wallet on the floorboard of the passenger side of the car. I almost cried at the though of going back in, but I did it anyway because the thought of going BACK to Target after the kids were in bed was too much.

The moral of the story is, I think, that Target is the devil. And always remember to look for your wallet before you go in.


One Comment on “Fruitless: An Ode to Yesterday’s Target Trip”

  1. A'Dell says:

    This is my NIGHTMARE! Every time I get to checkout I have this moment of panic where I don’t see my wallet right away, or maybe my credit card isn’t in the right spot and the thought of doing ALL THAT SHOPPING ALL OVER AGAIN makes me want to cry!

    I think I might have just come back later. So amazing that you managed to go back in!

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