Target and I have a somewhat friendly competition we’re in.
So, I love Target. I don’t know what it is about that place, but when I see those red shopping carts, and that welcoming bullseye, I think the cares of the world fall off my shoulders and I start to envision a better apartment to place new housewares I don’t really need, and a smaller figure to fit their cute new apparel, and more photos to go in more frames, and whatever else is on the sales paper they have for that day. It’s calmer than Wally World, and less expensive that Kohls, and it’s big enough to distract me from real life for at least an hour and a half on a good day.
But there’s a darker side to Target. And it’s name is the baby aisle.
Now, I’m not often one who hates visiting baby departments. I don’t often willingly wander into them, but I’m also not one who avoids them like the plague. We’re basically on an “if you don’t bother me, I won’t bother you” basis. That said, Target’s baby aisles and I, we have what you might call “a history”.
When my husband and I first started talking about expanding our family, but my sister got pregnant instead, LOL, Target is where I took her to buy her first baby item.
When we were hoping to adopt, and had Little Girl with us, Target is where I finally found her first Easter dress. They were the only store with a dress small enough. It’s hanging in my hall closet.
It was also Target where I first went shopping alone with 4 month old Little Girl, and she promptly cursed me out in wails that made other shoppers give me “what is she doing to that infant” glares, and accusatory snarls.
Target is my go-to place for baby shower gift-cards, cute baby gifts, and even if I’m in the store for something completely different, Target is also the store that will have you accidentally wander into maternity clothes or diapers.
So for me, Target has the potential to also be a pretty sensitive shopping spot. But I love the place! So I work hard at challenging myself to not allow those sad bits to creep in. Every visit, I encourage myself to not look away from the cute onesies that are just hanging around the housewares for some reason, or to not ignore the Leapfrog Puppy that I know I purchased for Little Girl when I see it prominently displayed in the Toy department’s outward facing aisle.
But I think Target is on to me. Because now, when I’m fully clothed in my big girl panties, Target has taken to the habit of saying “I see you, and I raise you”.
Take yesterday for instance:
I’m in good spirits, and I don’t at all shy away from the uber-adorable Valentine’s Day onesie display. In fact, I walk right up to the display and take a look! The “Daddy’s Little Princess” one with the ruffled bottom leggings makes me smile, and I wander away unscathed. Then, Target goes, “I see you. And I raise you.” and blam, right there in the center aisle is a FULL NURSERY DISPLAY. Not a little crib headboard with a price, like they usually have, but a full nursery, on a platform, decked to the nines, with a “Wouldn’t you like to be here” feel like a Jamaica tourist ad.
I’m not fazed by Target’s crafty wit, however. I comment to the hubby on how cool I think the color layout of the nursery is. I’m awful fond of the slate and yellow combo these days. We chuckle and keep it moving.
I have to admit, I’m pretty proud of myself when I hit the registers. I mean, really Target, you’ve done worse on far more stressful days than this. I’m cool, calm and collected…
and then Target says,
“I see you. And I raise you.”
At the register beside us, I hear the cashier say, “Oh my! You’re going to need our guest assistance to help you to your car!” I look over. Two car seats. She’s not just buying baby items. She’s not just buying a car seat. She’s buying TWO. “So!” Says the cashier, “Two seats! Is it safe to assume, TWINS!? YAY! Oh my!”
Two car seats.
I gather up my little bags of socks and body wash, and whatever other bs I just spent a box of diapers worth on, and I get the heck out of there.
Well played, Target. Well played.
Thanks Target. I’ll order some more feels from Acme, and try this again another day, m’kay?